The heavy weight of duty
by raining.in.adelaide
Summary: Jack is the youngest prince of the moon kingdom, and it's a good life. All the important jobs are done by his older siblings so he spends his days having fun. One day his father tells him that it is time to do his duty as a prince. A peace treaty has been drawn up with the land of shadows, and Jack is to be part of that: he is to be given to the Nightmare King as a courtesan.
1. Chapter 1

"We should wait until night," Jamie says, biting his lip. They're lying on their stomachs on the roof of the library, leaning over the edge. It's one of the highest points in the city of Lunanoff and everything stretches out before them, cream and clean and sparkling in the sunlight. Jack grins at him and bumps their shoulders together.

"There's no such thing as _night_, Jamie," he says, doing a rather good impression of Mr Garrett, their least favourite teacher. "Lunanoff's position near the north pole of the moon means that it does not have _night_, rather-"

"You know what I mean," Jamie says, rolling his eyes. "We should wait for dark. We're going to get caught again."

"I'm a prince, Jamie, what are they going to do to me?"

"You're a prince but what about me?"

"It'll be _fine_."

"Jack, I can't get in trouble again. I'm supposed to be starting work with Councillor Marek next month."

Jack frowns over at him; Jamie's not usually the type to worry about a little telling off. He should know that Jack would never let anything happen to him. They're best friends, and though Jack might get him in trouble he always gets him out of it too.

Maybe he's just nervous; maybe he just needs a nudge.

Jack stands, shielding his eyes against the sun and after taking a deep breath, starts to run, getting up enough speed to leap onto the roof of the next building over, the city hall. He makes it easily, grinning as he hears a gasp below as someone spots him: they already have an audience. Turning, he sees Jamie pause and then get to his feet. He's not as graceful as Jack but he's capable, and he lands heavily by Jack's side.

He looks at Jack, uncertainty flashing in his eyes. "If we get caught you have to stick up for me."

"Of course," Jack says with a laugh and walks to the edge of the roof, where it pushes up against the dome. Mr Garrett has given them many a lecture on the Dome; that it was built centuries ago, back before the Great War, when the city on the moon was just a summer retreat. He has told them who built it, with many complex spells that make it possible for them to live here, regulating air and a hundred other things that Jack never pays attention to.

The important thing for Jack's plan is that the magic of the dome interacts with a person's magical aura, creating a lightshow for all the city to see. As Jack steps closer it starts to flicker white and blue. Each step makes the colours brighter, bigger, and when he touches it they leap up, stretching toward the top of the dome. More cries from the streets below, a smattering of applause for the show they know is about to happen.

Jamie takes his place beside Jack, putting a hand to the Dome. While his own aura is nowhere near as strong as Jack's, the purples and golds of his magic flicker brightly.

"Let's go," Jack says, and leads the way, running along the roof and leaping onto the next one. The light of their magic streams behind them and he can hear the yells and cries – mostly of appreciation – as the crowd gathers below. They have to leave the roof at one point when the distance is too far to jump, but they've done this before. Slide down one column, race up the hand-and-footholds provided by the decorative brickwork of the next building, and they're back on the roof before the colours have even faded.

As they run Jack feels light, buoyed by the laughter and applause from below. Jamie laughs too and Jack looks over his shoulder to grin at him. There's nothing better than this, having fun with his best friend and giving the people of Lunanoff something to smile at – this is what life is all about, not classes and endless lectures about etiquette.

And then there's an explosion of sparks in front of him, green and yellow, as something hits the Dome. They skid to a stop. Only one person has magic the colour of springtime and it means their fun is over.

"Go," Jack whispers to Jamie, who nods and runs to the edge of the roof and clambers over the side. Jack pauses before turning to greet the owner of the spring magic. It's lucky, really – Bunny is Jack's brother, nearest to him in age. However irascible he can be, he's not the type to go ballistic about things unless they affect him personally.

_Just as well he caught us before we got to the hydroponic gardens, _Jack thinks, biting down on the smile that wants to dance over his lips.

He turns to grin a greeting at Bunny, but the words die on his lips when he sees that Bunny is dressed formally, his green overcoat marking his position as head botanist, gleaming brass buttons and epaulettes making him look very grand. Jack can't even remember the last time he saw Bunny so formal. What's this about?

"Bit dressed up for stopping mischief, Bunny."

"It's not about that," Bunny says softly. He meets Jack's eyes for a moment but then looks away. This isn't like Bunny at all and Jack frowns.

"Then what is it about?"

"Father will tell you that himself."

"Father…?" Now Jack is even more confused. Their father has little to do with his children – little to do with anyone. He stays in his private rooms, distant and aloof when he emerges. Things were different before the queen died, it is said, but Jack wouldn't know; she died giving birth to him, something his father always manages to mention on the rare occasions they see each other. Jack's good mood evaporates.

With a tap of his foot, Bunny creates a portal and gestures Jack through it. Jack gazes at it for a moment, then back at Bunny. He opens his mouth to ask another question then sighs. Bunny is one of the most stubborn people Jack knows and if he's decided he's not going to talk then there is no point in badgering him about it. Giving him one last frown, Jack steps into the portal. The journey through it is a twisting-turning slide of pure green, and it whisks away some of his annoyance.

On the other side Jack finds himself in the palace, somewhere in the East Wing. He looks around curiously. Long years have passed since Jack explored this part of the palace. The rooms of governance are here, which sound intriguing and political but are deadly dull, as are the men of his father's council. Old and dusty, every one of them.

Deeper in the wing are his father's personal quarters, and the ghost of Jack's mother is everywhere. It has become a shrine to her, statues in every nook and portraits on every wall. Jack hates it. Grief fills the air, stagnant and choking, and Jack always feels the crushing weight of guilt and blame most keenly there.

Thankfully they don't head that far. They stop outside an elegantly carved set of double doors, and Jack's interest is piqued. The War Room. The one place he has never managed to break into. Protected by centuries of spells and guarded day and night, it is the most impenetrable place in the palace, probably in the whole city. Behind his interest is confusion; why has he been brought here?

"Bunny-"

"Don't ask, Jack. Father will explain everything." He pauses and then reaches over, squeezing Jack's shoulder. His eyes are sad and Jack stares, confused and frustrated at being told nothing, and a little fear is starting to seep in as well.

Bunny steps forward to put his hands on the doors, and the guards standing before them step aside, spears standing to attention. He swings open the doors and gestures for Jack to enter; after a moment of hesitation, Jack does.

His father sits behind a large desk, fingers steepled. He watches Jack with pale eyes but doesn't speak. By his side is Benard, his chief councillor. Jack is surprised to see that Ben is dressed formally as well, his military uniform adorned with medals. Ben has always been a part of Jack's life, he's like family, and not once before has he seen Ben dressed like this. Comfortable robes and tunics are his usual garb, and it is strange to see the transformation. He stands straighter, seems bigger and stronger; it's as if possessed by the shade of his younger self.

But then he smiles, Ben's usual friendly smile, and the illusion is shattered.

"Jack! Come in. Take a seat."

Jack steps forward and the doors close behind him; Bunny doesn't follow him in. He glances around the room, curiosity warring with wariness. Everywhere are remnants of the world as it was centuries ago, before the Great War. One wall is covered in a map of the old world, each country marked out in a different metal. There is a model of their palace down on the planet that Jack recognises only from history books. It's huge compared to the one on the moon but it must be dust now, Jack thinks, destroyed by war and time.

"Sit, sit," Ben says with a thread of impatience in his voice, coming over to Jack and guiding him to a chair.

Jack sits and looks up at Ben, at his father. "So is someone going to tell me what's going on?"

"Jackson," his father says softly, frowning at Jack as though he barely recognises him.

"Look at you. All grown up. You look so like your mother."

Vicious words leap to Jack's tongue and he clenches his jaw before they can escape. It does no good to bait his father with anger - it only makes him retreat further. Instead he sits perfectly still, unresponsive, waiting for someone to explain things.

The silence stretches out and with each passing second, the tension in the room grows thicker. Finally, Ben speaks.

"Your father is right, Jack. You're grown up now. Just look at you."

"You saw me yesterday, Ben. Pretty sure I've not grown since then."

Ben gives a soft laugh and nods. "Quite right. Well. I know you must be wondering why you're here."

"You could say that."

"It's why we remark on you being grown up," his father says, voice cool and distant. "It's time for you to do your duty as a prince. To put away your childish games and diversions."

"You know we are at war with Umbra," Ben says before Jack can speak his annoyance with his father's attitude.

"Of course," Jack says, as Ben goes over to the map and taps on Umbra, the country marked out in a dark metal. "But they're on the planet, we're up here on the moon. They don't have mages like ours so they can't get to us. It's not really a war."

"They can't get up here, but we need to go down to the planet," Ben says. "And if we are at war with Umbra that makes things difficult."

"Why do we need to go down to the planet?"

"Because of the water, Jack. We don't have any."

Jack frowns. "I don't understand - we've had the processing factory for years-"

Ben sighs and sits down heavily opposite Jack. "It's a ruse. A little white lie to keep the people feeling safe. The only water is down on the planet, and there's little enough there that isn't tainted. It's a precious resource, and we need something equally precious to trade for it. That's where you come in."

"Me?"

Ben pauses, walks to the other side of the room, drumming his fingers on his round belly. "The Great Council has been deliberating for months: what do we have that King Pitch might want? We have few resources, nothing that he couldn't get down on the planet. But we have you."

"I'm not following." Suspicion creeps over Jack but he's sure he must be wrong, Ben can't possibly be suggesting what it sounds like he's suggesting.

"Well, the king will want a wife, of course, to give him heirs, so marriage is out of the question. Not to mention that it would be a grievous insult to offer the youngest child in any case-"

"Hey!" The indignant response is automatic. The rest of him is slowly realising that the more Ben speaks, the more it sounds like Jack's ridiculous suspicions might not be so ridiculous.

"But to give a prince as a courtesan - that would be a great offering."

And there it is, out in the open, stated clearly. Even so, Jack cannot believe it. They can't be seriously suggesting that they want to offer him to the Nightmare King as a courtesan. There must be a misunderstanding, or-

"You are a virgin, of course?"

Jack gets to his feet, outraged and horrified, the truth of his situation hitting him like a punch to the face. "You can't do this," he whispers, then looks over at his father, pleading. "I'm your _son_."

"You are my son," his father says quietly. "You are a prince, and it is your duty to protect the people of Lunanoff. If we go to the planet, Umbra's armies will attack - and we must go to the planet."

"Part of the treaty guarantees the water that we need to survive, Jack. No more dangerous trips planetside! Because of your sacrifice, Lunanoff will be safe."

"I don't want to be sacrificed-"

"When we first suggested it to Pitch, he was wary at first - but then we showed him your portrait he agreed quickly enough after that," Ben says with a chuckle, and Jack can only stare at him. He is suggesting that Jack give up his freedom and work in Pitch's pleasure houses in much the same tone that he would plan a feast.

Jack steps back, the unreality of the moment crashing into his growing realisation that this is truly happening. "You can't do this!"

"It's for the good of the people. It is your duty as a prince," his father says. "Think of the lives you'll save!"

"If it's my duty as a prince," Jack says, glaring up at him. "I'm not the only prince. Why me?"

His father barely pauses before answering. "Because you are the least important."

Jack stares up at him. That much is obvious from the way he has been treated all of his life, but to hear it stated so boldly... He feels tears well in his eyes and clenches his jaw.

He will not cry.

"Take him to the priests," his father says, turning away and going back to his seat. "The mages say that the best time for the bridge will be tomorrow, in the early evening. He must be cleansed and prepared by then."

"Come, Jack," Ben says, pulling on his arm. "Let us get out of here."

As he is led to the temple, Jack considers running, but where would he go? Besides, he feels heavy, so heavy, and it is difficult to pick up his feet and follow Ben. He tries to think things through but his thoughts are as sluggish as his steps. Whenever he tries to think things through, his mind hits a wall of disbelief.

All he can think is that his father chose to do this to him - _we suggested this to Pitch_, Ben said. Not that Pitch asked for Jack – his father _offered _Jack as a sacrifice. That is so much worse that Jack's mind can barely grasp it, shying away from the horrific truth.

The temple is one of the grandest buildings in Lunanoff, second only to the palace. Gold leaf and ornate paintings cover every wall and the windows are so covered in coloured glass that the outside can barely be seen and the interior is a wash of colours.

One of the aides steps forward, covered in a long, embroidered robe from head to toe. Only their eyes are showing, pale blue with long lashes. They reach out a hand to take Jack's, and lead him to a door that Jack has never been through before.

"What's happening?" Jack asks, and tries to pull his hand away, but the aide is strong. "What are going to do to me?"

The aide doesn't answer; they are forbidden to speak other than during rites. Jack turns to Ben, to put the question to him, but when he sees Ben smiling at him like a proud parent he can only stare. Can he not see how afraid Jack is? Does he not care? The aide clears their throat to get Jack's attention, tugging on his hand.

He lets himself be pulled through to the inner sanctum, where the walls are so densely packed with painted icons that Jack feels dizzy, or perhaps that's the incense that seems to cloud his mind and blur his thoughts. It does nothing to numb the fear and confusion, but his thoughts are slow and his body feels so heavy; he couldn't run even if he wanted to.

Two more aides step into the room and undress him, and other than a muffled _Hey, _Jack can do nothing to stop them. He feels embarrassed and vulnerable in his nakedness, especially when more aides step into the room, seven of them all together, and start to circle him, chanting low and resonant.

There are more rituals: he is dragged naked to the next room where oil is poured over him and sand rubbed into his skin, to the next where he is given a bitter brew that makes him dizzy, and finally he is forced to his knees as a circle of candles are lit around him.

"Help me," he whispers - to the aides, to the gods, to anyone, but no-one answers.

This room too is thick with the sweet smoke, and he can do nothing to help himself. The incense does strange things to time and it feels like he is there for moments, for hours, both and neither. And then he is being dragged to his feet, washed with cold water that does a little to wake him from the drug-induced stupor – for that is what the incense is, he's sure of it – but not enough for him to run.

And then he is pushed into a room so small that he cannot stand, that he has to get onto his knees. The heavy door is locked behind him with an ominous thud.

This can't be happening, he thinks again, but he knows it is. He tries to consider it as Ben said - he'll be bringing about peace, saving lives.

But all he can think of is his father's courtesans, beautiful women who never smile, who open their legs on his father's command. Perhaps it is not a bad life - they live in luxury, they want for nothing. It is a religious calling and they see it as serving the gods, but they _chose _that life.

Jack has no such choice.

And though he never answered Ben's question, he is a virgin. He's never done anything more than pleasure Jamie with his hand. What does he know about being a courtesan?

And then there is Pitch's nickname, the Nightmare King - he is said to be cruel, a tyrant and a torturer.

Think of the lives you'll save, Jack tries to say to himself.

"But what about _my _life?"

At last, Jack allows himself to cry.

* * *

The next morning Jack is pulled out of the room after a night of broken sleep. He is exhausted and every limb is stiff, but he is given no time to recover. He is wrapped in a simple white robe and dragged across the city by the aides and a contingent of temple guards, leaving a whispering crowd in his wake.

He is taken to the dressing rooms of the palace, usually bustling with men and women wanting to be made beautiful, but today the place is deserted.

Jack sits without moving as he is dressed and made-up, as needles are pushed through his ears and lips so that he can be adorned with jewellery.

He feels numb and repeats his father's words over and over in his mind:

_It's for the good of the people._

_It's your duty as a prince._

_Think of all the lives you'll save._

And then scrabbling-screaming thoughts break into his numbness, _but I'll be a slave, a courtesan, to the Nightmare King_-

It's for the good of the people.

It's your duty as a prince.

Think of all the lives you'll save.

Finally the dressers finish, and they pull him to his feet. The clothes feel strange, nothing like he would normally wear; heavy layers of embroidered fabrics, thick with gold thread and beads. Ornate yet easy to remove. Not made for racing across rooftops or climbing buildings, but -

Jack stops himself, taking a shaky breath and clenching his fists.

The dressers lead him to the door, sighing over how lovely he looks, and with every move his new outfit is a chorus of mocking chimes from the jewellery, cruel whispers of his robe brushing against the floor.

Outside wait six guards, spears in their hands and swords at their sides. An honour guard, supposedly, here to protect the Moon Kingdom's youngest prince, but Jack knows that their real purpose is to stop him escaping.

They surround him and they begin their journey to the dock. Jack is blind to the grandeur of the palace. This may be the last time he sees his home but he can't seem to lift his head. All he can do is look down at the marble floor and the knotted leather of his sandals. The effort of pushing down the choking despair weighs heavily on his shoulders.

He blinks as they step outside into the eternal sunshine, and looks out onto the plaza in front of the palace. The king's court has gathered to watch the procession, and they whisper behind fans as Jack is nudged down the steps. As he passes them, almost-strangers and supposed-friends alike, no-one makes a move to help him. One woman, a friend of Bunny's, throws a flower to him. It is deftly caught by one of the guards, crushed in his huge hand, and whatever words were on the woman's lips wither and die.

The rest of the journey continues without mishap and they arrive at the dock in less than an hour.

It is normally used to send warriors down to the planet below, and Jack has only been here once or twice, always finding it grand but boring. Now he looks at it with wide eyes. The fear is growing in him, eating away at his insides, wrapping around his throat like vines.

The guards bring him to the platform that dominates the space. A canvas cabana stands at one side and a magic circle covers the other, surrounded by chanting mages.

His family stands beside the cabana. Each of them is dressed formally and they act formally, nodding and shaking his hand. Jack can see the doubt in Bunny's eyes, in North's, but neither of them act.

When he reaches Tooth, his calm breaks, shatters into jagged pieces.

"Help me," he begs, grabbing her hands. "Please, Tooth, don't let them do this, don't let them send me-"

But he is pulled roughly away from his sister and though she reaches for him, her hands quickly drop to her sides. She clenches her jaw, as stoic as their brothers.

"Now, Jack, don't cry," a familiar voice says, and Jack looks to see Ben approach. He gives Jack a smile and dabs at his cheeks with a piece of silk. "You'll ruin your make-up."

Jack can only stare. This man is like an uncle to him, yet when Jack is to be given as a slave to the Nightmare King, all he can worry about is Jack's make-up?

And then Jack's father steps out of the cabana. The rush of hatred that wells up startles Jack in its intensity, but then, why shouldn't Jack hate him? Yes, the king is his father, but what kind of father gives away his child to his enemy?

_It's your duty as a prince_, Jack thinks, and snarls, shaking as anger and fear collide in him.

The king doesn't notice; he refuses to look at Jack. He gives a short, rehearsed speech full of flowery words and gratitude to Jack for making this sacrifice, and then steps back into the cabana.

Jack is pushed towards the circle of mages who will send him down to the planet, and as they start to chant, low and ominous, Jack turns to his siblings, another cry for help rising in him-

They are not even looking at him.

No-one will save him.

The silvery light of the bridge that connects the moon to the planet grows stronger. When it is almost blinding, Jack is pushed into it and he disappears into the liquid silver.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! I've been publishing this story on AO3 but I had a few requests to put it over here as well. I'll be posting a chapter a week here every Friday, so please keep an eye out for updates! If you really can't wait, head on over to AO3 and you can read the newer chapters there (link on my profile).

ALSO - and this is pretty important! This fic is going to be pretty explicit so please be warned - D/s themes, lots of sexytimes - but lots of angst and some violence too.

The fic also has its own tumblr account - jackthecourtesan dot tumblr dot com (link on my profile!) - where I answer questions from my readers, reblog fanart and fanfic (which I am so, so lucky to get, you guys are crazy talented!), and also images that inspire me. Feel free to follow there, or ask any questions :)


	2. Chapter 2

Jack is floating in silver light, blindingly bright. He closes his eyes against the intensity of it, tries to cover his face with his hands but he can't seem to move his arms.

And then he hits something, hard. His mind takes a few seconds to readjust to a world with gravity and substance. He's facedown on a floor that is hard and cold. Opening his eyes, he sees that it is black stone tile, speckled with white flecks that sparkle.

"Prince Jackson of Lunanoff?" It's a woman's voice, cool and self-assured; when Jack looks up and sees her, his first thought is that she matches the voice. Tall with long black hair worn in two braids, her clothes are black too; trousers and a tunic, well-made but unadorned. Jack has never seen anything so simple, but what does he know of fashion in Umbra?

And she is most certainly Umbran. She has the grey skin so common in her country; that is the reason it is known as the Land of Shadows.

As Jack glances around, he sees that the room is filled with guards who share that ashen skin, visible only where their strange helmets show their faces.

"Yes," he says, his voice strained. "I'm Jack. Prince Jackson of Lunanoff."

"I am Onyx," she says, bowing her head slightly. "Advisor to the king. You'll excuse the guards, I hope. A precaution."

Jack nods and fidgets with the sleeve of his robe. He can feel his heart sprinting in his chest, and he tries to swallow down his anxiety. Whatever he might wish, he is here in the Shadow King's castle, surrounded by guards. He knows he needs to calm down and he takes slow, shaky breaths that help a little.

The woman – Onyx – looks at him for a moment, then turns to one of her companions. He too has grey skin, though far darker than Onyx's, and black curls that brush his shoulders. His robe is a little more like what Jack is used to, golden embroidery around the hem, and although it is ridiculous, that little reminder of home takes the edge off Jack's panic.

"Jethryn will examine you for magical items," she says.

"Another precaution?" The bitter words slip out before Jack can stop them and he winces. Onyx smiles, ever so slightly.

"Precisely."

Jethryn circles Jack, chanting under his breath. He pauses at Jack's side, taking hold of his wrist and examining the bracelet. The binding bracelet, Jack thinks, blinking.

"What is this?" The mage runs his fingers over the runes.

Jack stares at it. It stops him from consciously accessing his magic and he's worn it for years, ever since his magic started to surface. Everyone is so used to him wearing it that it's become a part of him – even the aides and the dressers didn't remove it.

_Or maybe they were afraid of what I might do_, Jack thinks. Being bound for so long means that he never developed much control over his magic but it responds to his mood. Only the gods know what his fear and rage over being sent here would have wrought.

"It binds my magic," Jack says, not sure how much he should say and not in the mood to share.

Jethryn frowns at it and places his hands over the metal. He hums and the runes glow; then he nods, satisfied.

"He speaks truly; it will be removed in the ceremony along with everything else." He pauses and glances at Jack with silvery eyes. "Why did they bind your magic? You've clearly worn this for a long time."

"It's ice magic," Jack shrugs. "And we don't have much water, you know?"

"But ice melts," Jethryn says, then shakes his head as though realising that this probably isn't the time. "I'll examine it after the ritual," he says to Onyx, and then turns to exit through a small side door, leaving Jack alone with her and the guards.

"In a moment I will take you to the Temple of Shadows, where the king is waiting for you," Onyx says. "I assume your people explained the ritual?"

"They didn't explain anything," Jack murmurs, his voice wavering.

Onyx pauses, frowning at him. "But we gave them the details-" She stops herself and her professional, veiled expression returns. "Then I shall explain. We will lead you to the temple. When you enter, you will be in an antechamber. Pass through, and the king will be there, along with the priest and the acolytes. The priest will formally introduce you to the king. You'll be stripped of these things from your former life, the jewels and the clothes. Then you will be bathed – cleansed – and lastly collared. You won't speak until the priest asks you to confirm the vows, when you say _I will_. Do you understand?"

_I don't understand anything_, Jack thinks, but he nods. "Yes."

"Good." She pauses for another moment, but Jack has no idea what she is thinking. And then she turns, flinging open the huge doors.

Despite everything, Jack can't help but gape as he is led through the hallways. His first thought was to remember the route in case he got chance to escape, but he is so startled by how different everything is that he is having trouble paying attention. Just the hallways are as large as rooms at home. The opulence that Jack based on the palace in Lunanoff – paintings and sculptures, carved walls, gold leaf everywhere: there is none of that here. The floors are all the same cold black stone and the only decorations are geometric patterns on the walls and tall, slim columns. Occasionally there are tiles of etched dark metal and even more rarely, a flash of what looks to be burnished gold.

The mere size of this place cows Jack. He tries to remember the way, which turns they took, but it's just so _big_. And then there is the fear, mounting, filling him, making it hard to breathe. Fear of what will happen if he makes a mistake in this ritual; fear of what will happen if he doesn't.

_You can escape,_ he promises himself. _Just get through this, do as you're told. They'll leave you alone eventually and then you can get out_.

He tries not to remember that he has nowhere to go.

They reach a set of double doors more ornate than anything Jack has seen so far. Black wood inlayed with gold; swirling patterns are etched onto the metal. Onyx turns to look closely at him once more.

"Just do as I told you," she says, something almost like cool encouragement in her golden eyes. "It's a simple enough ritual."

He nods and she opens the doors. Beyond is the antechamber and he steps inside, feeling his destiny close in on him when the doors shut behind him.

Jack isn't sure how long he stands there in the antechamber, staring at the heavy red curtains that separate it from the temple beyond. All his life his friends have called him brave, but now, standing here, he wonders if he's ever known true courage.

Trying to clear his thoughts, he shakes his head, causing his jewellery to chime softly. It's just a few steps. And it's just a ritual - one little ritual. Nothing that Onyx described sounded too scary.

But afterwards, Pitch will want to-

Jack pushes the thoughts aside. He has to focus on one thing at a time. He can do this.

With fear clawing at his heels, Jack steps forward and pushes through the curtains.

He blinks, startled at how bright it is beyond them. He squints, breathing in a bright, fresh scent he doesn't recognise. As his eyes adjust, he sees that one wall is covered entirely in glass, painted in a rainbow of colours near the top, clear below. A huge pair of doors sit in the middle of the wall and beyond is a rocky area, where water falls into a pool.

Only when a thin, high voice calls out "Prince Jackson of Lunanoff," does Jack force his attention to the people in the room. Turning to the speaker, he sees that it is a man in a heavily decorated robe, grey beads on black velvet, with a golden staff in one hand. Behind him are three women and a young man, dressed in similar but simpler robes. The priest and his acolytes, Jack guesses. He nods, wondering if the no speaking rule has started already or if he should answer.

The priest nods and shuffles forward, gesturing impatiently for Jack to follow. He stops before another man, tall and slender, his poise utterly self-assured. He has similar bone structure to Onyx, high cheekbones and pointed chin. His clothing is simple and elegant, cut to suit his slim frame, a sharp contrast to the priest's decadent outfit - and Jack's, for that matter. Despite the simple clothes, Jack is instantly sure that this is Pitch. He is unmistakably a king.

"Prince Jackson of Lunanoff, this is His Royal Majesty, Lord of Shadows, and Ruler of Fear: King Pitch, the first of his name. Your master."

The last word makes terror rear up in Jack but he nods, his father's words racing through his mind.

_It's for the good of the people_.

_It's your duty as a prince._

_Think of all the lives you'll save._

And then, the words that truly calm him:

_You can escape. You can escape. You can escape. _

As he repeats the words his panic ebbs away and becomes manageable. He looks up at Pitch to find him watching, his eyes tracing over Jack like he's exploring everything about him. There's hunger in those eyes and Jack looks away before the panic returns.

"My king, are you ready to begin?" Pitch nods, and the priest turns to Jack. "And you?" Jack nods, although he isn't, he will never be ready for this.

The priest steps back and begins to chant. He uses the Old Language, just as the aides in Lunanoff did. Jack wishes he knew some of the language; it might give him more of an idea of what is happening. Thanks to Onyx, at least he has an idea of what to expect.

The priest stops speaking and a bell chimes. The acolytes step forward. Pitch lifts a hand to Jack's hair, strokes his fingers through it briefly. Jack's eyes flutter at the touch and fear rises in him. A smile plays over Pitch's lips and he slides the clips from Jack's hair, puts them in a box that one of the acolytes holds. Piece by piece, Jack is stripped of all the jewellery that felt so strange to him and when it is all gone he feels lighter. And then, lastly, the binding bracelet is removed. Jack feels the barrier that stopped him accessing his magic dissolve, and there it is, flickering like hungry flames. He glances at Pitch, at the priest and the acolytes. He could freeze them all and run. But could he? Having never trained, he doesn't know how to make his magic obey his will; besides, there are guards outside, and where would he go in any case?

The meagre hope sputters and dies, and the ritual continues.

The outer robe is slipped from Jack's shoulders and he clenches his hands, forcing himself to stay still. The robe is given to an acolyte and Pitch's hands slide down Jack's waist to tug the tie of the tunic undone. As that too slips from Jack's shoulders it leaves him completely naked and Jack blushes, trying to resist the urge to cover himself with his hands.

Lastly Pitch kneels to remove Jack's sandals and Jack blushes at how close Pitch's head is to his dick. Will that be a common occurrence, he wonders, feeling slightly hysterical. Will Pitch please him as well, or will he care only for his own pleasure?

Once Jack is free of all garments and jewellery, the last remnants of Lunanoff, the priest resumes his droning chant.

This time when he stops, Pitch takes Jack's hands in his own. Jack glances down at them, at Pitch's long, grey fingers wrapped gently around his own, and his stomach tightens. Pitch tugs, and Jack follows him to the huge glass doors and through them.

Jack almost forgets about his troubles as they step outside, everything swept aside by the pure power of the sun, the real fresh air and the scents of nature. He closes his eyes and the wind dances around him; he can almost hear its voice, playful and powerful. Breathing in deeply, he is struck by how good it feels, how different it is to the constraints of the moon, where everything is carefully maintained. And for the first time he realises how claustrophobic it was, seen only now when he knows that things can be different. He feels like he is truly breathing for the first time, feels freer than he ever has before.

And then Pitch squeezes his hand gently, and that illusion of freedom shatters.

He opens his eyes.

Pitch looks down at him questioningly, then seems to remember that they are in the middle of a ritual. He strips of his own robe and Jack stares at his nakedness. Slim but powerful, the muscles are hard beneath the skin, but Jack's gaze drops below Pitch's waist, glancing at his cock. He looks away quickly, feeling his cheeks burning. It looked sort of big, but it's not really possible to tell until he's hard.

Which Jack will probably see soon enough.

Jack makes himself focus on this ritual, focus on the moment. _You can escape_, he reminds himself; he just needs to get through this.

Pitch gestures at the water and Jack goes to step into it. When it is unexpectedly warm he jerks back, startled – but not before his magic kicks in, covering the surface with a thin layer of ice. Jack stares at it in horror, afraid to look at Pitch to see his reaction. Whenever he used his powers in Lunanoff, accidentally or otherwise, he was always punished – how much worse must Pitch's punishments be?

When he forces himself to look at Pitch, instead he sees wonder in his eyes. He's confused but relieved. The heat of the water is already breaking up the ice, and Jack steps forward again, clamping down on his magic as much as he knows how.

Pitch follows him into the water and reaches for a clear crystal jug on the side of the pool. He fills it and pours it over Jack's head. It runs over his head and shoulders, and it feels nice. In any other situation Jack might enjoy it. Once Jack's hair is wet, Pitch pushes it back from his forehead and picks up a bar of soap from beside the jug. He cleans Jack's face first, washing away all the make-up that the dressers so diligently painted on him. Then he moves on, slowly leaving a trail of lather over Jack's arms, his shoulders. When he reaches beneath the water Jack bites his lip. Even though his movements are as impersonal as the rest of the cleansing, when Pitch's hands move to Jack's dick he can't stop his blush, especially not when he starts to get hard. Pitch smiles at that. His movements get a little less impersonal then, a few strokes that make Jack gasp before he moves on.

He's still half hard when it is time to get out of the water and he wills it to go down before they go back into the temple, but when Pitch pays him similar attention while drying him it doesn't help. Pitch dresses again and then smiles at Jack, stroking his cheek gently. It's such a tender gesture that Jack stares at him, not understanding. Tenderness from the Nightmare King?

Things move on before Jack has much time to think about it. Pitch leads him back inside, where a cushion has been laid on the floor, and Pitch pushes him down onto his knees. Now Jack's head is at the same height as Pitch's cock, and _that_, he knows, will be common occurrence.

He tries not to dwell on the thought, but then one of the acolytes approaches with a collar resting in a shallow box. He stares at it, a blatant sign of his new role – of his enslavement. It is gold, a inch-high circlet of metal that will change everything about Jack's life.

"Jackson of Lunanoff," the priest says. "With this collar, you will be marked as Pitch's courtesan forever. Will you accept?"

It takes a long moment to make his mouth work, but eventually Jack says, "I will," in a small voice, thinking, _for now_.

"And will you, Pitch, accept Jackson as your courtesan?"

"I will," Pitch says, the first time Jack has heard him speak.

"Then he is yours. Mark him as such."

It is hard to stay there as Pitch steps forward with the collar in his hands, but Jack does, digging his nails into his thighs. It's just a collar. He can take it off later. This is just a ritual – those vows were only words. Everything will be fine. He just needs to get through this and he can think about it later, he can escape, or something, something, he just needs to get through this.

Pitch starts to speak again, a chant in the Old Language. Jack may not understand the words, but Pitch has a beautiful voice, smooth and rich. The rhythm of the chant makes it almost hypnotic and strangely calming. Jack closes his eyes.

The collar is placed around Jack's neck, cool against his skin, and he hears a _click_ as it is fastened. Pitch continues his chant and Jack feels a tingle of unfamiliar magic on his skin. To close the collar, he thinks, and-

Pain.

_Searing_ pain, agony. His arms burn, freeze, feel like they're being punctured with a thousand needles all at once. He screams –

And just as suddenly, the pain is gone.

Jack gulps in air, tries to collect his whirlwind thoughts, tries to understand what just happened. He realises that Pitch's hands are on his shoulders, the only thing holding him upright.

Opening his eyes, he looks down at his arms, afraid that they are going to be bleeding or burnt. Instead they are beautiful. Flowing from the collar, over his shoulders and arms down to his wrists, is a silver and blue pattern, swirling and delicate.

Frost, he thinks, though he knows it only from the few times he used his magic before the binding bracelet was forced on him. It's undoubtedly beautiful, but seeing it on his own skin is so odd.

The priest speaks again and Jack is pulled to his feet. Two of the acolytes step forward, one with a bundle of fabric in her arms, the other holding two golden cuffs.

Pitch takes the fabric and Jack sees that it is a sleeveless robe, sheer silver over white. Pitch eases him into it and it is fastened with a wide, white belt. Pitch pauses and runs his hands down Jack's arms, smiling with delight in his eyes.

The bracelets are fastened around Jack's wrists – no chant and no magic this time, but they have a round ring at the front of them just as the collar does.

"It is done," the priest says, and the bell chimes again. "Jackson, formerly of Lunanoff, is yours, my king."

"Mine," Pitch purrs. It makes Jack shiver, for many reasons. He is startled that one of them is pleasure at the sound of Pitch's voice.

An acolyte steps forward with a golden chain. When Pitch attaches it to Jack's collar, he feels another fluttering, panicky moment. There couldn't be a clearer sign of his new role, especially when his hands are pulled behind his back and a shorter chain connects the cuffs.

Without speaking, Pitch tugs on the chain around Jack's neck and leads him out of the temple. Two guards wait outside with Onyx. She falls into step with Pitch and the guards follow behind.

After walking down a maze of corridors, finally they stop before a door made of dark wood with some sort of sigil marked on it with gold. The guards take their places either side of the door and stand to attention. Jack wants to run, but Pitch's grip on the chain is firm. He just needs to wait until he's alone, then he can think about this.

Pitch pushes open the door and leads Jack into the room. Onyx enters as well and stands just inside the door.

It is a grand room, the central feature being a huge bed. Panic wells up in Jack. Is this it? Has he been brought to Pitch's bedroom to- To do his duty?

After removing the chains attached to Jack's collar and cuffs, Pitch hangs them on hooks near the door and turns to look at him. He takes Jack's hands in his own and smiles down at him.

"These are your rooms," Pitch says.

"Mine?" Jack can't help the startled exclamation.

Pitch pauses and glances around. "Are they not suitable?"

"They're better than my rooms at home," Jack says, then realises that probably isn't the way he's supposed to talk to the king. Gods, he wishes he knew what he was doing. "I mean-"

"I'm glad to hear it," Pitch says, waving away Jack's excuses. "Come."

Pitch leads him past the bed, past a chaise longue and a table, into a huge and luxurious bathroom. Jack is amazed when Pitch turns a metal handle and water runs from a spout into the bath. Water truly is plentiful here.

And then he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror and he can only stare. The white robe is as strange as the robes his own people put him in, though it suits him far better. He could run in this, if he gets a chance.

Most of all he stares at the markings on his arms. They are permanent, he is sure of it. Burned into his skin by the spell that fastened the collar.

In the mirror he sees Pitch approach, watches him lightly rest his hands on Jack's shoulders.

"We look good together," Pitch says quietly, and Jack can't deny that. In purely aesthetic terms, the contrast of Pitch's grey skin against Jack's paleness, of Jack's white hair and Pitch's black – they go together well.

Staring at their reflections, Jack feels the weight of everything that has happened to him – of everything that will happen. Despite how afraid he is of being subject to Pitch's whims, it's nothing to how much the betrayal of his family hurts.

Closing his eyes and bowing his head, he tries to push away all of the hurt.

"Jackson…?"

Despite everything, being called _Jackson_ makes Jack breathe a laugh. Opening his eyes, he turns to look up at Pitch. "Jack. Call me Jack."

Pitch smiles and nods. "And you can call me Pitch when we're alone; though in public, you must call me _My king_."

"Sure. Pitch."

Pitch's smile widens, then he leans in and Jack has just a second before their lips meet. His eyes flutter shut as Pitch kisses him softly, his hand going to the small of Jack's back. The kiss is surprisingly sweet – Jack expected Pitch to be rough or claiming, but he's gentle, and as his lips slide over Jack's, he finds himself responding. His hands move to Pitch's waist and he angles his head to deepen the kiss. Pitch doesn't waste a moment in taking advantage of Jack's invitation and he presses his tongue into Jack's mouth, running it over Jack's teeth and brushing against his tongue.

It doesn't last long before Pitch pulls away to smile at Jack. "Beautiful," he murmurs and runs his fingers through Jack's hair.

Jack blinks up at him, startled by his own reaction. Is it something to do with the ritual, with the magic in the collar and his markings – or was that him, responding to Pitch so hungrily? The last few days have been far too crazy for Jack to even know where to begin to unravel those thoughts.

"And lastly," Pitch continues, as though nothing has happened, "Your balcony."

Crossing the main room, he opens a door and instantly the scents of nature fill the room. Jack steps through the door and finds himself on a large balcony, looking out onto gardens and a forest beyond. He instantly feels better. Once more the wind seems to sweep away all his worries and he closes his eyes, feeling a connection to the wind, to the coolness in the air that he's never felt before. It's his magic, he realises; his magic responds to the weather. The revelation is startling. The moon doesn't _have_ weather, so this raw power startles him. He still can't access it – the collar must contain binding magic just as the bracelet did – but he _feels_ it, just out of his reach.

Moving to the edge of the balcony, wanting to look over the side, he hits something: a magical barrier.

"To keep you safe," Pitch says from behind him.

Jack touches it, watches the white and blue flare where his aura reacts with it. "To keep me where you want me."

Pitch is silent and Jack doesn't turn to look at him. He doesn't want Pitch to see the hurt on his face.

Eventually Pitch says, "Only for a while. Until I'm sure I can trust you."

Jack wants to be offended but he knows it makes sense; he couldn't have expected otherwise. He looks out over the gardens below. They're ordered and prim, a contrast to the wildness of the forests beyond. Looking at them restores a little of Jack's balance. Whatever brought him here, he's glad he got the chance to see these things he's only seen in pictures before. On the edges of consciousness, blunted by the restraining magic of the collar, he can feel the wind call to him. He's sure that if his magic wasn't bound he could speak back, command it.

For the first time Jack is realising how little he knows himself, how little he's been _allowed_ to know. For all that Jack has always disobeyed the rules, he's been on a short leash all of his life. The binding bracelet forced on him – and now his _duty_.

Rubbing his eyes, Jack bows his head.

"You must be tired," Pitch says. "It has been a long day for you."

Jack nods. On quiet feet, Pitch comes over to him, puts a hand beneath Jack's chin and angles his head so that he's looking at him. Belatedly, Jack remembers that no courtesan would ever meet the eyes of the king at home, and he looks away. The last thing that Jack needs is for Pitch to be angry with him.

"Then rest," Pitch says softly. "Take the day for yourself."

Jack does look at him then, too startled to remember his place. Why would Pitch do that? Surely he should be gloating, wanting to thoroughly claim his prize?

Glancing away again, as demure as he knows how, Jack nods. "Thank you."

Pitch runs his fingers through Jack's hair and then after giving Jack one last, soft kiss, he turns to leave, Onyx at his heels.

The door shuts behind them – locked, of course – and Jack turns to his new rooms, sad and tired and confused.

Every time he thinks he knows what will happen next he's taken by surprise. He wishes he knew what to expect from his new position. Even if it was awful, at least he would know what to be afraid of. That would be better than this uncertainty - maybe.

Each time stepping into the fresh air has made him feel better and he goes onto his balcony once more to feel the rejuvenating effects.

Outside the air is scented with living things, trees and plants and grasses. Jack breathes in deep and it conjures memories of rare trips to the hydroponic gardens in Lunanoff; hushed, almost reverent visits.

It also makes the anger return; Bunny had taken him on the last visit, smiling and big brotherly. Yet when it came to this...

Closing his eyes, trying not to cry, Jack breathes deep the green scent of the fading day. It calms him, a little, and he gazes out over the gardens. It's so beautiful. Better than anything on the moon, better than anything Jack's ever imagined.

Jack stays there for a long time, gazing out at the gardens and the trees beyond. The sun sets, the sky fading to pink, then purple and darkest navy. Jack stares up, realising that he is watching nightfall for the first time in his life. The dome on the moon is bespelled to project day and night as those ancient mages knew it on the planet so long ago, but it is nothing compared to the real thing.

And then the moon rises over the peak of the distant mountains, a silver disk that sets the night alight. For a moment Jack is struck by the beauty of his home, until his awe is overcome by the knowledge that it is not his home, not any more.

The betrayal crashes over him like a wave, the undertow pulling him to his knees.

He feels everything all at once and drops his head into his hands, weeping.

The next he is aware, hands are slipping under his legs and back and he is being picked up. Blinking groggily, he sees that it is Pitch, now wearing a plain black robe. It is dark still, much colder that it was.

"Wha-" Jack starts, but his mouth is dry and fuzzy.

"You fell asleep," Pitch says, and Jack thinks he can hear a note of scolding in his voice. "If you plan on sleeping on the balcony again, please use a blanket."

Jack can't bring himself to react; he's exhausted and so terribly sad that it's a kind of numbness all its own. He lets his head fall against Pitch's chest as he carries him into the bedroom.

When Pitch puts him on the bed and starts to undress him, Jack's eyes close. At least Pitch has chosen this time to - to enjoy himself, when Jack's already hit his lowest point. He doesn't even care what Pitch does.

So when Pitch leaves him, walks over to the closet and returns with a robe like his own, Jack isn't sure what to make of it. Pitch helps him into it, and then pulls the blankets over him. Jack frowns up at him, thoroughly confused.

"Go to sleep," Pitch says, brushing Jack's hair off his forehead. "We'll talk in the morning."

"But..." Jack trails off, not even sure what he was going to say.

Pitch smiles at him and kisses him ever so gently. Jack is more confused than ever.

"Sleep," Pitch says again, and touches Jack's cheek before turning to leave.

Jack lies in the dark, trying to understand, to take in all the things that have happened today, but as tiredness encroaches again, he gives up and lets his eyes drift closed.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and for the favs!

(And just a reminder, there are more chapters on AO3. I was asked to upload this onto , so I'm doing that whenever I have a spare five minutes. Once it's all up, the new chapters will be uploaded here at the same time as on AO3.)


	3. Chapter 3

Jack wakes up feeling heavy, like he has been smothered by his dreams.

Sitting up, he glances around the unfamiliar room. He doesn't know what to make of being given such grand quarters rather than being put in the harem with the other courtesans. Obviously that's different here. A lot of things are different here.

When he pushes himself out of bed he finds the stone tiles cold beneath his feet, such a contrast to the plush carpets at the palace in Lunanoff. At home, he'd have been woken up by one of the servants, or North roaring at him good naturedly, telling him to get to class. Or Jamie, having snuck into the palace to see him.

Jamie, Jack thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. Where was Jamie? Why didn't he help Jack? He's Jack's best friend, and even _he_ didn't do anything to help Jack. Was someone stopping him? Or did he really not care enough to even try?

Biting his lip, Jack shakes his head. He can't believe that. Something must have happened. If his family was willing to give Jack away as a courtesan, locking Jamie up for a few hours would be nothing. Jack's eyes fill with tears. He wishes he could see him. Just one friendly face – just one thing that is familiar.

But he has nothing.

Jack goes onto the balcony. It helped him feel better last night, and it's the nearest thing he has to freedom, to running on the rooftops the way he did whenever he was upset at home.

Taking a deep, shaking breath, Jack gazes out at his view. It's still early and the sun is low in a pale sky. He's startled by a sudden gust of wind that rifles through his hair. It feels playful, teasing his bangs and whispering at the edge of his robe. Jack smiles; it's almost like the wind is trying to make him feel better.

He stays out there for a while, watching the breeze play through the grasses in the garden and the trees of the forest, but eventually his curiosity compels him to explore. He wishes he could go out in the gardens at least, but maybe Pitch will let him do that later, after–

Jack forces his thoughts away from Pitch and goes back into his rooms.

There are none of the extravagances Jack is used to - no bright tapestries or paintings in golden frames – but though it is plain it is clearly luxurious. The tiles look expensive and the furniture is finely crafted; the bed coverings are soft and rich.

On the table near the chaise longue, he finds a carafe of water. Jack pours a glass and drinks deep, then another. He didn't realise how thirsty he was, or hungry, but then he hasn't had real food or drink for two days.

He skirts those thoughts too, feeling like he's constantly edging around a black abyss. He distracts himself by examining the contents of the bookcase beside the table. It's full of books about Selena, the country where Jack's people lived before they retreated to the city on the moon during the Great War. Jack glances through one of them but it just reminds him of his dullest lessons. Why are these books here? Surely Pitch doesn't care if his courtesan feels at home. For that matter, what use does a courtesan have for books?

Sighing, Jack turns away and goes into the bathroom. There are various liquids and potions and he smells each of them, but eventually he can't stop himself. He turns to the mirror.

He looks tired, and his eyes are haunted and sad; there is no trace of his usual smile. Pulling open the belt of the robe that Pitch dressed him in last night – _why did Pitch do that ?_ - Jack pushes the robe off his shoulders and lets it drop to the floor.

The collar and cuffs are startling enough, but the markings are the real shock. He runs his hands over his arms. They are as smooth as they ever were, the only scars from old falls and scuffles.

There is a brief, sharp knock at the main door and then the sound of the handle turning. Jack's heart hammers in his chest and he grabs the robe, pulling it back on as the door swings open.

It is Pitch, of course, with Onyx by his side. She nods a greeting at Jack and then takes up her position by the door.

Pitch himself approaches Jack, taking his hands in his own. Jack stares at their hands, at the subtle black-on-black embroidery on the hem of Pitch's sleeve.

"Did you sleep well?" Pitch asks, and part of Jack perks up at the velvet sound of his voice. Maybe if he can get Pitch to talk as he – claims him, it might not be so bad, Jack thinks with grim humour.

"Yeah, thanks," Jack says, concentrating on the patterns on Pitch's sleeve. "Out like a light."

"You must have been so tired," Pitch says, his thumb playing over the back of Jack's wrist, just below the cuff. "I hadn't even thought of what you must have gone through in Lunanoff before you arrived here."

Jack almost laughs at that, but if he starts he might never stop. He can feel panic and hysteria lapping at him like hungry flames.

"Yeah," he says instead. "It was a pretty busy day."

They're interrupted by another knock and Jack is startled to see men enter with furniture – a wood-framed sofa and a table – and take them out onto the balcony.

"I thought since you seem to like it out there, it should be made more comfortable for you," Pitch says, and Jack stares up at him.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" The words spill from him before he can stop them. Pitch gives him an odd look.

"You're my courtesan, Jack," he says, as though that explains anything.

Another man comes in with a large tray of food and places it on the new table. Jack forgets his questions as his half-forgotten hunger roars to life, and he only just manages to wait for Pitch's invitation before gorging himself. Meat, cheese and fruit he recognises, but the sweet pastries and soft crumbly cubes are as mysterious as they are delicious.

There's a hot, dark drink that is bitter, and a juice that Jack doesn't recognise but has two glasses of. When he eventually slows down he sees that Pitch is looking at him with amusement in his eyes. Strange how they seemed grey inside but out here they seem golden.

"I assume you were hungry?"

"Uh," Jack says, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah. Guess I was. I've not eaten in almost two days."

Concern crosses Pitch's face. "I'm sorry. I should have offered you something last night. That was discourteous of me."

"It's fine," Jack says quietly and sits back on the sofa to watch a cloud meander across the sky. He still doesn't know what to make of Pitch being nice to him, and doesn't want to question it further in case it changes his mind.

Pitch takes Jack's hands again and resumes stroking his wrist. When Jack glances down, he realises that Pitch is stroking the line where the marking ends. His stomach gives an ugly twist and he looks away again.

"I wish I'd been able to meet you before the ritual," Pitch says. "Not that I'm disappointed with you, not at all. But I would have liked to get to know you a little first."

Jack has to take several deep breaths before he can answer calmly, and even then his voice shakes. "Me too, but I didn't know anything about it until the day before yesterday."

"What do you mean? This has been planned for months."

"No-one told me," Jack says, and clenches his jaw to stop to stop the storm of angry, frightened words from forcing themselves past his teeth.

"Councillor Benard said that it was your idea - that you wanted to be my courtesan."

Jack stares at him. Pitch thought that he _wanted_ this? And Ben lied about it? The betrayal stabs at Jack again, reopening wounds that had barely begun to heal. "I don't know what to tell you. I was never given chance to decide whether I wanted it. Just that I _was_ doing it. I didn't have a choice – I didn't have a choice in any of this, and nothing was explained, they just said _do your duty_ and I was just thrown down here and–" Jack stops, trying to catch his breath but it comes fast and hitching. He covers his eyes with a hand and tries not to cry – not here, not in front of Pitch – but everything just keeps getting worse. Ben lied to Pitch, as though he wanted to make Jack's life even more difficult that it would have been anyway. Every time that Jack thinks he has some kind of idea of what is happening everything shifts and shatters.

"Jack," Pitch says softly when Jack can't stop his tears, and pulls him into an embrace. That's the most comforting thing anyone's done for him through this whole ordeal. Not his family or friends but the _Nightmare King_–

But since Pitch is the only one who seems to give a damn about Jack, maybe he doesn't deserve that reputation. If it's the only comfort Jack is going to get, he sees no point in pushing it away. He buries his head in the collar of Pitch's tunic and cries until the sobs devolve into sniffles, until the agony in his heart recedes to a dull ache.

"Now," Pitch says when Jack's mostly calm, and gently wipes the tears from Jack's cheeks. "Start again. I don't think I understood. What didn't they tell you beforehand?"

"They didn't tell me _anything_," Jack whispers, shaking his head. "I'm the youngest prince- the _least important_," he says, the words bitter on his tongue. "I hardly knew anything about the war, or about politics. I wasn't given an option. I was being sent here whether I wanted to be your courtesan or not."

Pitch is silent for a long moment, then moves away from Jack and looks at him with narrowed eyes. "And _do_ you want to be my courtesan?"

_No,_ would be Jack's instinctive answer, but what are his other choices? Even if Pitch lets him go, he can't go back to the moon, to a family who betrayed him, where everyone would know that they're at war because of him. And if he stayed here on the planet – what, fending for himself in the forest? Going to the nearest town and trying to make money? Jack's never learned a trade, never learned anything.

"I don't know," Jack says eventually, very quiet.

"You don't know," Pitch repeats, and stands. "The peace treaty was based upon you offering yourself to me. And now you're saying that was a lie?"

"Ben lied, not me-"

"That doesn't make it alright," Pitch hisses, then storms into the main room, slamming the balcony door behind him and making Jack flinch. Inside, he can hear Pitch's raised voice, Onyx's replies in soothing tones. The door muffles their words, but Jack can guess well enough what they're talking about.

Why would Ben lie about that? Is that the only way that Pitch would accept the treaty – if Jack came here willingly? Then why wasn't Jack asked? He has no idea what his answer would have been if he had been given the choice. He wouldn't have wanted to do it, gods, of course he wouldn't, but having the _choice_ would have made so much difference.

And surely Ben must have realised that Pitch would find out eventually. Just from Jack's behaviour, Pitch would have figured out that this was not something he chose.

The door opens again, Onyx by Pitch's side. Her brow is furrowed; she looks as confused as Jack feels.

"Tell me exactly what happened," Pitch says, in a suspiciously cool voice.

"Like I said, I was just told that I was being sent down here to be your courtesan. My father said _do your duty, Jack!_ And apparently my duty is to let you fuck me–" Jack stops, realising that probably isn't the way he should speak to the king, his _master_, but when Pitch's careful control of his expression drops, it reveals not anger but surprise.

"What exactly do you think a courtesan is?"

Jack's mouth works silently for a moment, not sure what Pitch expects him to say. "A courtesan – Courtesans work in the harem – the pleasure house. And when the king wants – pleasure – he goes to them."

"And then?"

"And then he… goes back to his rooms?"

"Wait," Onyx says. "Are you saying that in Lunanoff, a courtesan is someone that the king only goes to for an hour of physical pleasure – nothing more?"

"I guess," Jack says. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"That's not what a courtesan is here, Jack," Onyx says softly. "Not at all."

"Then- what is it?" When Onyx and Pitch share a glance but don't seem about to share what they're thinking, Jack groans in frustration. He's sick of not knowing anything. "Please, tell me. Or give me a book, or have one of your other courtesans tell me, but if I'm supposed to be doing this, I need to know what _this_ is."

Pitch stares at Jack for another moment. "A king only has one courtesan," he says, then shakes his head. Jack can see his anger flickering to life again. "This is outrageous. Councillor Benard and your father lied to me – they lied to _everyone_. This whole peace treaty is based on falsehood-"

"Pitch," Onyx says quietly, and touches his arm. "We need to call your advisors together so that we can decide what is to be done about this. But Jack is here, and he's scared and confused. If the treaty is to stand, he needs to know what it means to be a courtesan."

He looks at her, then back at Jack. He sighs and sinks down onto the sofa beside Jack. He's obviously still angry but his expression softens. "To think that your own father lied to you like this-" Jack just looks at him. Why does Pitch care if Jack was lied to? Pitch strokes his thumb across Jack's lips, then stands. "I will arrange for some books to be brought to you, and later we can talk about this."

He stalks away. Onyx looks after him, but before she follows, she says to Jack, "He's not angry with you. He's been looking forward to meeting you for a long time, Jack. And now…" She shakes her head. "Make sure you look at the books. This is nothing like you think it is."

And then she goes, and Jack is left alone.

For a long moment he just sits there, too full of confusion to even feel fear. Questions skitter through his mind but he has no answers for any of them. Eventually he finishes the rest of the food and goes back into his rooms. He wanders around them again, as though the answers he seeks might be found in stone tiles or door frames.

When he wanders into the bathroom, he carefully turns the handle as Pitch did the day before, and stares in amazement as the tub starts to fill with water. It's warm, just as the ritual pool was, and Jack figures that since he's here in this place of abundant water, he may as well take advantage of it. He chooses one of the bottles beside the bath and pours a little into the water, eyes widening as bubbles blossom.

When it is full he gets into the water, sighing at how good it feels. The heat permeates his body, easing his aches and soothing his soul. He stares up at the ceiling and tries not to think about anything. He's _tired_ of thinking about things. He's tired of everything.

One hand drops to the floor outside of the bath and Jack traces soapy patterns on the floor, following the lines between tiles and feeling the sharp corners beneath his fingertips.

"Why," he says softly, to the ceiling, to anybody, to nobody. "Why?"

He lies there until the water grows cold, and when he gets out of the bath he moves slowly, his limbs feeling heavy. He dries with soft towels and goes to the closet, finding it mostly bare. He pulls on a pair of white trousers and a tunic that is open at the sides, so he uses the belt from yesterday to hold it closed.

There's a knock at the door but it doesn't open. Jack looks at it, tries the handle. Still locked. On the other side he hears a murmured conversation; only then does the door open.

A stranger steps in. He looks a few years younger than Jack, but the thing that really startles him is that the kid's skin is pale peach, cheeks washed with pink. His hair is blond and his eyes are blue behind a pair of glasses. He's the first person since he got here that has colouring like Jack's used to seeing, and he can't help but stare; he thought that all Umbrans were grey-skinned.

The kid's arms are full of books and he shuffles them around to offer Jack his hand, but then quickly drops it.

"Oh, you're not meant to touch anyone but the king," he says, then pauses awkwardly. "He, ah, asked me to bring you books about courtesans. The king did, I mean." he puts the books on the table, arranging them carefully so that their spines are lined up.

"Thanks." Jack glances at them and then quickly away again. He doesn't want to think about that now. He wants distracting, just for a little while.

"I'm Monty," the guy says, eagerness in his voice. "And you're Prince Jackson."

"Just Jack."

"I think what you're doing is so brave," Monty says with a nervous smile. "Leaving home like that, so that we can all have peace."

Jack doesn't know what to say. He isn't brave. Maybe he would have been, had he been given a choice in any of this; but he doesn't see anything courageous in being forced into something. "So, where are you from?" Jack says it as much to distract Monty as himself; being called _brave_ makes him feel dishonest. "I thought everyone in Umbra had grey skin."

Monty's eyes widen, then he gives a nervous smile and shakes his head. "No, not at all. Almost everyone in the palace does, but I'm not highborn."

"So it's just royalty and the upper classes that have grey skin?"

"Mostly; they're the descendants of the first Umbrans, who came from the stars. The rest of us have always been here–" Monty pauses and gives an abashed grin, as though realising how ridiculous his words are. "That's what the stories say, anyway."

Jack can't help but raise an eyebrow at that far-fetched piece of myth. Then again, his own people's tales say that as a prince, he's a descendent of the moon god. That's easily as absurd as people from beyond the stars.

"So you're the librarian?" Jack asks, wanting to keep the conversation going a little longer. It's nice to talk to someone who has nothing to do with that happened to him; to talk about normal things instead of politics and his own terrifying future.

"Just the assistant," he says, and gives a bright smile. "I hope to be one day, though. I'd be the first lowborn Royal Librarian, can you imagine that?"

"That's great," Jack says. He still feels sadness like a cloak over his shoulders, but Monty's happiness is so sweet and light that he manages a smile. "So you got a speciality?"

"Pre-War history," Monty says, and blushes a little. "Your country's history, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Do- do you think I could ask you a question? About your family?"

"Sure," Jack says with a shrug, and sits on the chaise longue. Monty looks at it as though considering sitting, but remains on his feet. This must be pretty weird for him, Jack realises – talking to the king's courtesan. He supposes that he's lucky that Monty is interested in his people's history. Much as he doesn't want to talk about – or even think about – his family, he'd much rather that than be alone with a hundred questions that he has no answers to.

"Well," Monty starts, pushing his glasses up his nose and smiling nervously. "I've followed the lineage of your family right through to King Jokul, who ruled during the war. He was an ice mage, and I heard that you are, too. Does all your family have weather magic?"

"No," Jack says, shaking his head. "We all have different magic. I guess that's part of why we all look so different. One of my brothers looks kinda like a rabbit; my sister has feathers and wings."

"That makes sense," Monty says, nodding. "Your royal family has always had the most magic - not just in Selena but in the entire world. It would make sense that magical mutations are common."

Jack blinks at him. "Mutations?"

"In the best possible way of course," Monty says hurriedly, eyes wide as though he's afraid that he might have offended Jack.

Jack laughs. He likes Monty, he decides. The few people that Jack has met here so far are so utterly self-assured, it's pleasant to meet someone who isn't, someone who's _normal_.

"So what about magic here," Jack asks. "There was a guy when I arrived here – Jethryn, I think. He was a mage. I didn't even know you had magic other than the shadow stuff."

"We have magic but nothing like you," Monty says. "Magic is a lot rarer and we have to use props to focus our magic. All but the royal family, that is."

"Pitch? What sort of magic does he have exactly? All I know is that he can do stuff with shadows."

"He controls shadows, yes. He can travel through them, as long as he's seen his destination before. And he can shape them – into weapons, even into creatures to do his bidding. Before he was king, he was a formidable warrior."

"I can imagine," Jack says, frowning at the thought of the very shadows rising up to fight against him. He and Jamie used to sneak into the Army barracks, and he often overheard tales of that, but had assumed it was just exaggeration.

"And Onyx can shape shadows too. She's nowhere near as strong as King Pitch, but only her mother was part of the royal family – her father was lowborn."

"Wait– Pitch and Onyx are related?"

"They're cousins. She's third in line for the throne–" Monty says, then cuts himself off. Is he trying to stop himself from saying too much to a possible enemy? The thought is depressing.

There's a moment of silence and then Jack can't stop himself from asking,

"What would you do? If you were told you had to be a courtesan?"

Monty pauses and adjusts his glasses thoughtfully. "If I was in your situation... Well, I can't say I'd like it - being bound to someone I'd never met. But when so much is at stake, there isn't really any choice. Besides, that's what royalty does, though. Make alliances even when they don't like it, or marry people they've never met - for the good of the people."

Hearing his father's words repeated by someone Jack was starting to think might be a friend hurts. "Because it would be your duty as a prince?"

Monty blinks at him, confused by his sudden bitterness. "N-no. It would be my duty as a person. If someone told me tomorrow that I could stop the war by becoming a royal courtesan, I'd do it. Or at least I hope I would – that I'd be brave, like you."

"It's not even a real war," Jack says, shaking his head.

"But- people are dying," Monty says, frowning. "When your people take our water from remote places, people die of thirst before we can get supplies to them. And when there are battles – many soldiers have died, on both sides."

"I-" Jack starts, but trails off. No-one ever mentioned people on the planet dying because Lunanoff took their water, but Jack is starting to suspect that there are lots of things that no-one has mentioned.

"Besides," Monty continues with an uncertain smile. "I'm sure that if I was a courtesan to one of your family, we'd find something to love about each other, however different we were."

Jack stares up at him. "But it's not about love," Jack says with a shake of his head. "It's just - sex. I might have these nice rooms but they're still just like the pleasure houses -"And then he notices the odd look Monty is giving him.

"I- I think you should look at the books, Jack," he says, tapping the cover of the top book. "I don't think you understand what a courtesan is."

* * *

Hours later, Jack sits back, slouching on the sofa. He's never been one for reading or studying but learning about what's going to happen to him is good motivation.

And when he started reading, he couldn't stop.

On the Moon, a courtesan is a person who gives physical pleasure, but here...

Jack gazes down at the book. It's open to a picture of a king and his courtesan, happy and smiling as they walk hand-in-hand beneath a tree loaded with flowers.

According to these books, a courtesan is second only to the consort. It is far more likely that a ruler will take a courtesan out of love, where consorts are usually political matches. While technically a slave, subject to the whims of the ruler, more often than not they are adored and cherished, taken care of and treasured more than any other. Onyx was right – it is nothing like Jack thought.

Although he was right in one thing: a courtesan is still expected to pleasure the king. There is an illustrated section all about that, and Jack had looked through it with wide eyes, feeling naïve and nervous and even a little turned on.

One thing that Jack liked the sound of is that courtesans have a life of leisure - that at least sounds like him. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth but quickly falls flat. He is relieved to be wrong, but he far from happy.

The more he thinks about everything that has happened, the more frustrated he gets. He can't stop thinking how different things would have been if his father and Ben had just _asked_ him if he would do this. Like Monty, he'd like to think that he would have accepted his duty. But being forced into it is something completely different.

He has had no choice in any of this. And what of Pitch's nickname of the Nightmare King? He's heard terrible things about him, but how much is true? Is any of it? There's still so much that Jack doesn't know.

His thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. It swings open to reveal Pitch and Jack stands, feeling a rush of trepidation.

Pitch inclines his head in greeting, distinctly more distant than before. With his hands behind his back, he walks out onto the balcony and glances down at the table. "I see you have been reading."

"Yeah. You were right, I had no idea. Everything is completely different here." Jack touches the picture of the happy couple. He's been so caught up in his thoughts of how awful his future will be - but what if _that's_ his future? To be happy with Pitch? It's hard to imagine after all the stories he's heard about Pitch, but he's been so kind to Jack. Maybe he truly doesn't deserve his reputation.

"I knew I should have insisted on seeing you," Pitch says; he too is looking at the picture. "I would have been able to give you the facts, and you could have made an informed decision. Instead, everything about this treaty is based on lies. I don't see how it can stand."

Jack shakes his head, frustrated. He hates this – he has a way out of the situation but only if he is willing for people to die because of his choice. Hardly a choice at all, but now it seems that even that is to be taken away from him.

He needs another option. He needs time to think about this.

"Isn't there something we can do? Something to see if this is going to work? Like – like a trial run."

"There is the promise month," Pitch says slowly, frowning, and sits by Jack's side. "Four weeks where the courtesan and king get to know one another, to be sure of their compatibility. Normally it happens before the ritual, but we didn't have that luxury. And of course it is only a formality – the ritual always goes ahead."

Jack's eyes widen. If he can just have four weeks to think – four weeks where peace is guaranteed – he'll be able to make a decision – and it will be _his_ decision. The thought is like a light in the darkness and he grasps desperately at it.

"That's perfect," Jack says quickly. "We can do that. Both of us get the chance to get to know one another – why should we let Ben's lies deny us that?"

"It doesn't change the fact that he lied–"

"The treaty says that I chose you, right? So before you throw away this chance at peace, why don't we see if I do choose you? Give me the chance that Ben and my father didn't."

Pitch still seems unsure, but his gaze is hungry as it roams Jack's body. Jack's still not sure how he feels about that, but maybe he can use it to his advantage. He licks his lips and forces a smile. "And – well, from what I've been able to tell, you're a pretty good kisser. Are you going to deny me the chance of trying that again?"

Pitch looks at him and then, with a swift, smooth movement he pushes Jack onto the cushions and leans over him, capturing his lips in a kiss. Jack's eyes flutter shut as Pitch's hand goes to his hair, stroking gently through it.

Just like before, Jack finds himself responding, arms going around Pitch's waist. He settles deeper into the cushions, getting more comfortable. It means that Pitch has to shift as well, so that he is on top of Jack, their bodies pressed together. It feels _good_. A soft, startled moan escapes Jack's lips. Pitch chuckles darkly at that and his fingers creep under the slit of Jack's tunic, brushing against his skin.

All of his worries and confusion are being eclipsed by hunger, and Jack moans and opens his mouth to Pitch, wanting more. Pitch gives it to him, thrusting his tongue into his mouth and flicking it against Jack's, teasing little touches that make Jack dizzy. The hand beneath his tunic slides up Jack's body until Pitch's fingers brush over Jack's nipple, making pleasure jolt through him. He moans, feeling himself start to get hard as Pitch continues his ministrations. Pitch must be able to feel it too, where their bodies are pressed close, but it feels too good for Jack to be embarrassed. While he has little experience in these matters, obviously that's not the case for Pitch. He knows exactly what he's doing, and when he squeezes Jack's nipple, the tangle of pain and pleasure makes Jack cry out.

And then Pitch moves away, getting to his feet and looking down at Jack coolly. Jack blinks up at him, feeling dazed.

"Only _pretty good_?"

"Really good," Jack manages. He's startled by how much he wants more. A little afraid, too, of how strongly he responds to Pitch. He doesn't understand it; it's like a part of him that he never knew existed, one that he doesn't have any control over.

Jack stands and tries to adjust his clothes to hide his half-hardness but it doesn't work. Pitch's grin is amused, and he steps forward to briefly slide his fingers under the tunic, chuckling when Jack's breath catches.

"So," Pitch says, his expression sobering. "Four weeks. Are you sure about this?"

"I am," Jack says, more decisively than he feels.

"I'm still concerned that Benard and your father lied. Not to mention that they tried to force you into this," he adds. He takes Jack's hands and Jack is startled by the intensity in his eyes. "They thought that they were giving you to sexual slavery and they didn't even blink. Can't they see how precious you are?"

"You've only known me a day," Jack says, blushing at Pitch's sincerity. "It's not like you know how – precious – I am, either."

Pitch chuckles and inclines his head. "Very true. But I've been thinking about you for a long time, Jack. Since they gave me your portrait, I've been thinking about what you might be like. I suppose I've become – attached – to that version of you."

"Maybe you should get to know the real me," Jack says, wondering if Pitch will like who Jack really is as much as the version he's imagined. He wonders if he wants him to.

"I intend to," Pitch says, and kisses Jack softly once more. "I will be meeting with my advisors again tomorrow. We will decide how to proceed, but if you are willing to give this a chance for four weeks, then we can leave any retaliation until after you have made your choice. We will have peace until then at least."

Jack nods, feeling more positive. If nothing else, he's done that much – given both Umbra and Lunanoff a time of peace, and himself time to think.

"I will come to see you tomorrow after the meeting of the council. We will talk more then, Jack."

A last, lingering kiss and then Jack is alone.

Not quite alone, Jack thinks, glancing up at the moon. He glares at it.

"You put me here," he says fiercely. "But this is going to be my choice."

But right now, he has no idea what that choice is going to be.


	4. Chapter 4

This is the first day I've chosen to be here, Jack thinks.

He's sitting on the balcony with his breakfast, delivered while Jack was taking a bath. At the knock at the door he went into the main room wearing only a towel and the nervous young man who'd brought the food blushed the whole time, refusing to look at him. Jack's already decided that he's going to try and talk to him next time. Even if he's going to be here for four weeks, he needs people to talk to. He needs friends.

For now, though, he doesn't mind a little time alone. He has a lot to think about. It's only been a few days since he was running across the roof tops with Jamie but so much has changed. _He's_ changed. He chose to take on this responsibility – something he's always shied away from before. Is that why his father forced him into this rather than offering him the choice? Because he thought that Jack would be too selfish, too immature?

Jack closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, breathing deeply. No. He's not going to blame himself for this. And he's not going to keep thinking about Lunanoff, either. He's not going to dwell on the past. He's here now; he's going to make the most of it.

After all, Umbra is an incredible place. Just his rooms are full of amazing things and there's a whole world out there to explore. Even if he only goes out into the palace and the grounds, that will be as much freedom as he's ever had. After all, he's always been restricted by the dome; this is just a smaller dome. He just needs to convince Pitch to trust him.

And Pitch – there is another thing to explore. He can't stop replaying last night in his mind. What does it mean, the way his body reacts so readily to Pitch's touch? His experiments with Jamie were just that; they were fuelled by curiosity, not – whatever this is. This is a roaring hearth fire, a fever, something completely out of his control that is terrifying and thrilling and he wants more. He wishes he knew more about sex. He barely even knows what he wants, other than kisses and touches and Pitch's body against his.

He sits for another moment, eating the last of the sweet, flaky bread, and then stands, wiping his hands on his robe and going to get the books. Bringing them out onto the balcony, he flicks to the intimate paintings of courtesans with their kings or queens. One of them has a young man is locked in an embrace with a queen who smiles at him with love in her eyes. Another is using their hand to pleasure their king – that at least is something Jack has a little experience of. But the painting that captures his attention has the courtesan using his mouth to pleasure the king. Jack touches the picture and tries to imagine doing that to Pitch. Would he like it? And what if Pitch did it to him – how would it feel?

Biting his lip, Jack slides his hand down his body and reaches into his robe. He takes his cock in hand and starts to stroke it, feeling himself start to get hard. Closing his eyes, he thinks about what it would be like to have Pitch's cock in his mouth, to feel the weight of it on his tongue. About how it would taste, about how Pitch would tangle his fingers in his hair–

There's a knock at the door and Jack slams the book shut, scrambling to his feet and pulling his robe closed. Going into the main room he tries, uselessly, to stop himself from blushing, his mind reeling at the thought that he was touching himself while thinking about Pitch.

Onyx enters first and she smiles warmly at him. "How are you feeling today, Jack?"

"Good, thanks," Jack says with a weak smile, and turns to greet Pitch – but it's not Pitch who enters. It's a woman who is like no-one he has seen in Umbra. Hair the colour of rust, skin as white as milk. Her dress is scarlet, flowing down to the floor in layers that dance like fire as she walks. And then there is the eyepatch over her left eye, covered in intricate beadwork that matches the pattern of her necklace. She's incredibly striking, a burst of colour in this monochrome world.

She smiles at him and offers her hand. Jack looks at it, remembering Monty's words about no-one but the king being allowed to touch him. He looks at Onyx and sees her lips twitch into a half smile.

"Jack, this is Amber, the Royal Dresser. As she is the one who'll dress you and prepare you for the day, she's the only one other than the king who is allowed to touch you. That's why I'm here, as a chaperone."

Amber laughs and puts her hands on her hips. "Thanks for that introduction, Onyx, it's always best to scare the living daylights out of people the moment they meet me."

"It's just tradition," Onyx says, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry, Jack - Pitch wouldn't let her anywhere near you if he didn't trust her completely."

"Okay," Jack says, amused by seeing the always professional Onyx so easily irked.

"Is that breakfast?" Amber is looking out onto the balcony. "Do you have anything spare? I was so busy getting things finished that I didn't have time this morning."

"Sure," Jack says, at the same time that Onyx gives a mortified gasp of "Amber!"

"Oh please," Amber says, going out onto the balcony and picking up a pastry. "There's enough here to feed a damn battalion."

"That's beside the point," Onyx says, and pauses to take a deep breath, putting her hand over her eyes. "You always do this-"

"Then you should be used to it by now. Here, have a berry."

"I don't want a berry-"

"You love berries. Take it. Jack won't mind."

Jack can't help a laugh and he nods. "Please, take it," he says, waving for Onyx to take it. She does, looking guilty, and then pushes Amber back into the room.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Onyx says, licking the purplish berry juice off her fingers like she's getting rid of the evidence of a crime.

"Don't worry about it. There's more than enough food – I don't mind sharing."

They're interrupted as a rail of clothes is pushed through the door by a footman, followed by a large wooden box. The clothes are all in shades of white, blue and black, mostly sheer. Jack spies some beading and embroidery but mostly they are as simple as the other clothes he's seen since arriving in Umbra.

"I guess that means it's time to get down to business," Amber says, gesturing at the rail. "So here's what I do, Jack. Every morning I'll come here and dress you, get you ready for the day. I made these over the last couple of months, based on the king's preferences and the measurements that the dressers in Lunanoff provided."

The mention of Lunanoff providing the measurements months ago makes Jack's chest tighten but he breathes deep, determined not to let it hurt him. Instead he turns to the rail and looks through the clothes. They're mostly robes, some tunics and trousers. They're far simpler than any of the things he wore at home, or at least the things he was _supposed_ to wear at home. He usually stripped off most of the layers the minute he was away from the dressers, and his preferred outfits were simple trousers and shirts, maybe with a waistcoat – things that made it easy to run and jump and have fun.

"What do you think?" Amber asks. "Do you like them? Pretty as you'll look in all of these, I want you to feel comfortable too."

"I get a say?" Jack looks at her, startled. Since he didn't get a say in what he wore as a prince, he never expected to get that opportunity as a courtesan.

"Of course you do," she says, smiling at him and putting her hand on his shoulder. "I've been told how you ended up here. That makes it even more important that you're wearing things that you like. The king's wishes are important, but yours are too. The only rules for a courtesans wardrobe are no sleeves and no shoes, weather permitting."

Jack blinks and looks at the clothes. Being able to explore the palace is what he was thinking of in terms of freedom, but this is a kind of freedom too. He smiles, surprised at how much it means to him.

"They're all nice," he says, taking one of them off the rail and putting it against his body. It's sky blue with a deep v-neck, fastened at the waist with a silver and opal clasp. It's beautiful and it's also almost entirely sheer. "Uh- maybe something a little less revealing?"

"We can do that," Amber says, reaching for a silver-white robe with embroidery around the neck. "I can put in more layers but for today you could wear this with it."

"What do I wear under it?"

"It's designed to be worn over underwear," she says with a shrug. "It's supposed to be provocative. Teasing."

Jack raises his eyebrows. "Pitch likes that? Teasing?"

"Judging from what he wants to see you wearing, I'd say so," Amber says with a laugh, and Jack looks at the robe again. Sheer as it is, it wouldn't leave much to the imagination. "Honestly, though, if you prefer to wear trousers and a tunic underneath, I'm sure he won't mind – I don't think he'd care whatever you wore. Why don't we see what it looks like?"

She moves forward, reaching for the belt of his robe and he jerks back.

The memory of being stripped in the temple in Lunanoff flashes into his mind and panic wraps around his chest like iron bands, making it hard to breathe.

"Can I dress myself? Just for today? Please?" He feels a little embarrassed about asking, especially when Amber seems so nice, but he just wants a little privacy. He just wants to feel like a person, not a courtesan or a commodity.

After a moment of looking at him, startled, Amber gives him a gentle smile and nods. "Of course," she says and kneels down to open the chest. It's full of clothes, underwear and leggings and simple tops. "Take anything you'd like. Whatever you'd feel comfortable in."

Jack takes them into the bathroom and shuts the door, closing his eyes against the whispers of panic. He breathes deeply until the tightness around his chest eases and then opens his eyes, looks into the mirror.

"It's okay," he tells himself, and his reflection gives him a small smile as though not entirely convinced. "It's going to be okay," he corrects, and that makes him smile wider, if only because of the silliness of talking to himself.

He looks at the clothes in his arms and starts to put them on. Having a top under the two robes is too bulky, so he ends up with just a pair of close-fitting trews. The robes are sheer enough that his skin can be glimpsed beneath the layers but covers him enough that he's comfortable.

Is this teasing, then? And Pitch likes that? Jack has plenty of experience teasing his friends and family but he guesses this is something different. He grins at his reflection. It still sounds like it might be fun.

Turning this way and that, he's surprised by how much he likes the outfit. The robes are lightweight enough that he can move easily in them, and the blue matches his eyes. His arms are bare and the deep v-necks – down to his waist on the blue one, his sternum on the white – mean that his collar is on show. He touches it, loops a finger around the ring fastened to the front. The metal is cool and smooth. He tries to put a name to the way he feels about it, but his emotions are hopelessly knotted.

"It's going to be okay," he tells himself again, and this time his smile doesn't meet his eyes. Part of him wishes he had time to think things through, but then thinking about things has never been his strong point. Maybe he just needs to distract himself with action. Remembering what he was doing before Onyx and Amber arrived gives him an idea of what sort of thing might distract him, and he blushes, flashing an embarrassed grin at his reflection before turning away.

Before he can get caught up in his thoughts again, he steps back into the room and spreads his arms wide. "What do you think?"

"Gorgeous!" Amber grins at him and comes over to adjust the robes slightly. She looks delighted that her creations suit him so well.

"I think Pitch will like that very much," Onyx says, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"So it's suitably teasing?" Jack asks with a grin, and she laughs lightly.

"Definitely."

Amber continues getting him ready for the day. He agrees to having his ears and lip pierced again, and the sting is quickly overcome by a spicy potion that soothes them instantly. The delicate silver and opal earrings are so light that he barely notices them; the simple silver ring through his lip will take some getting used to but as he prods at it with his tongue he decides he likes it. She paints his nails silver and then stands back to admire her handiwork.

"So," he says. "Should I try teasing Pitch?"

Amber finishes putting silver slides into his hair and then sits back to look at him. "That depends on what you want him to do," she says, and Jack feels a blush spread over his cheeks.

"He- he kissed me last night. Maybe that again?" _Maybe more,_ a hungry voice whispers and Jack's blush deepens.

"You could just ask him," Amber says with a laugh. She stands and pulls Jack to his feet, walking around him for one last check and then she nods, satisfied. "You look stunning. If you want him to kiss you, I don't think you'll have to do much to persuade him."

After they leave, Jack looks at his reflection again, admiring his new jewellery, but barely a moment later there's another knock at the door.

This time it is Pitch, and the instant he steps into the room Jack is glad that he decided not to wear a top beneath the robes. Pitch's eyes roam his skin hungrily, and he steps forward to take Jack's hand in his, planting a kiss to the back of it.

"How are you feeling today, Jack?"

Jack opens his mouth to say _fine_ but then shuts it again. "I don't know. How are you supposed to feel when you've been given away by your family? Betrayed. Scared. People keep calling me brave but I don't feel brave."

Pitch is still holding his hand and he strokes the back of it with his thumb. "You chose to stay here when you could have left. That is brave, Jack."

"Maybe," he says quietly, and shakes his head, giving Pitch a weak smile. "So what do you think of my outfit? Amber did a pretty good job, huh?"

For a long moment, Pitch looks at him, but then nods, letting Jack change the subject. "She did. You look lovely."

"So what are we going to do now that I'm all dressed up?"

"We could go out into the gardens," Pitch says. "I thought it might be nice for you to see something outside of your rooms."

The thought of going outside lightens the weight on Jack's heart and his smile widens. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Excellent."

Pitch takes the golden chain that acted as a leash from the wall, and Jack's enthusiasm is muted. After attaching the leash, Pitch pulls Jack's arms behind his back, connecting the cuffs.

"You don't trust me," Jack murmurs.

"Not entirely," Pitch says, looking down at him. "Do you trust me?"

Jack's lips twitch into a smile. "Not entirely."

Pitch takes hold of the leash and a protest is on Jack's lips, but he closes his mouth. He's not sure how he feels about it. It's part of a tradition that he doesn't really understand – the role of courtesan is complex and his reading so far has barely scratched the surface. He has read enough to know that courtesans don't always wear a leash, and he wonders if one day Pitch will let him go without. And then there's something deep within him that likes it; it's the same part of him that responds to Pitch so hungrily, and Jack has absolutely no idea what to make of it.

When they go out into the corridor, Jack is startled all over again by the size of the place. There are enormous windows, almost from the floor to the ceiling, and they have a wonderful view of the gardens. Jack feels a rush of excitement at the thought of truly being outside for the first time in his life.

"What do you think of my palace?" Pitch asks, jerking Jack from his thoughts. "It must be different to your own."

"It's different but I like it," Jack says, honestly. "It's simpler. Subtler."

Pitch laughs softly, and the sound of it makes Jack shiver with pleasure. "The idea of any palace being subtle is somewhat amusing."

"Yeah, well, you've not seen Lunanoff."

They walk in silence for a moment and then Pitch says, "Do you think you could be happy here? If you decide to stay?"

Jack pauses, trying to decide how to answer. It's difficult when he's not even sure how he feels. "It's people who make me happy, not places. So I guess that depends on you."

"I suppose so," Pitch says, a thoughtful note in his voice.

The corridor comes into an end into a hall so huge that Jack can barely believe that it's real. It's as big as an entire wing of the palace in Lunanoff, Jack's sure of it. It's as simple as the rest of the palace, with the same dark stone and simple geometric patterns except for the ceiling, which is painted to resemble a night sky. The constellations are marked out with their names beside them, and Jack is surprised to see that they are the same names he knows. He's been brought up to think of Umbra as a strange, alien place; but the more he sees of it, the more he is realising that the differences are only superficial; that they're not so different after all.

Two grand staircases lead down to the ground floor and Pitch leads Jack down one of them, though Jack can't stop looking around at the incredible hall, trying to take in everything.

They approach huge doors, guards standing at either side. They bow to Pitch and pull open the doors without uttering a single word.

The instant they step outside, all of Jack's doubts and worries melt away. He closes his eyes and turns his face to the sun, feeling its warm, golden glow filling him. The wind dances around him, playing over his skin and whispering in his ears. His lips curve into a smile as peace chases the last of his fears away.

When he opens his eyes, Pitch is looking at him wonderingly. "You really do love being out here, don't you?"

"Yes," Jack says, and looks out over the gardens, smiling. "It feels good. It feels right. I guess it's something to do with my magic. Weather magic – it's all part of nature. Even though my magic's still bound, I can feel a – a connection."

Pitch looks as though he wants to say something but thinks better of it. Instead he presses a kiss to Jack's forehead and leads him down the stairs. The stone is pleasantly warm beneath Jack's feet. Still holding the leash in one hand, Pitch falls into step with Jack and slides the other arm around Jack's shoulders. What a strange mixture of affection this is, Jack thinks, and stranger still that he likes it. He wishes he could go without the cuffs being linked, though. If his hands were free-

_If my hands were free I'd grab Pitch by the lapels and kiss him_, Jack thinks, want rising in him, sudden and fierce. He feels heat in his cheeks and looks away, hoping Pitch won't see.

"You're blushing," Pitch says; so much for that. "What are you thinking?"

"I, uh," Jack says, groping for less embarrassing responses but theyevade him. "I was thinking about last night. When you kissed me."

"Oh yes?" Pitch's grin widens. "You liked that, did you?"

"I liked it a lot," Jack says, and the heat in his cheeks flares. He looks up at Pitch and gives him a smile that is far more confident than he feels. "Maybe we could do it again."

Pitch stops and looks at Jack for a long moment before pulling him closer and kissing him. Jack tugs at his cuffs, wanting to put his arms around Pitch, but his frustration is quickly defused as the heat of the kiss burns away everything else. When Pitch pulls away, Jack is gasping and half-hard, and the little smile that Pitch gives him only makes him even more frustrated.

"When we get to your garden, I'm going to ravish you," Pitch murmurs.

It takes Jack's dazed mind a few moments to realise what Pitch just said. "My - my garden?"

"The courtesan's garden," Pitch says, setting off again. "When the royal family moved to this palace after the Great War, the courtesan missed the beautiful gardens of the old palace so much that the king built her a garden of her own, full of beautiful flowers to make her smile again."

Jack wonders if Pitch would do something like that for him; judging from his actions so far, he's fairly sure he would.

"This hasn't always been the main palace?" Jack asks. He looks over his shoulder and sees the palace from the outside for the first time. It's _immense_, far bigger than any building Jack has ever seen. It is pale grey with a black roof, six pointed turrets stretching into the cloudless sky. Much like the interior it is simple but beautiful, and Jack just stares at for a long moment. It seems like something out of a fairy tale, as unreal as people from the stars or the moon god. "It's the most incredible thing I've ever seen."

"It used to be the summer palace, for when the heat on the coast got too much."

Seasons, Jack thinks, startled again. If he stays here, he'll see the seasons change. In Lunanoff it is always comfortable, neither hot nor cold, never changing. The size of the palace and now the thought of seasons make him feel strange, like he's dreaming or drunk.

"What season is it now?"

"The beginning of autumn," Pitch says and points to the distant forest. A handful of leaves are beginning to change colour and they stand out amid the green.

"And they'll all change?"

"Yes," Pitch says. "In a month's time, most of them will have fallen and the weather will be turning. If you stay, you'll see winter."

"And snow," Jack says softly, then gives a small smile, thinking of what he's seen in paintings and stories. "I'd like to see that."

"It's your choice, Jack."

He looks up at Pitch and smiles. "It is, isn't it?"

They walk a little further, and as they reach the crest of the hill, Pitch points and says, "The courtesan's garden."

On the edge of a copse of trees, Jack sees a wall covered in ivy a little pool of privacy in the otherwise open gardens. As they approach, Pitch leads him around a corner to a wooden door with curling greenery carved into it. Withdrawing a key from the depths of his robe, he inserts it into the lock, which clicks loudly as it opens.

They step inside and Jack looks around with wide eyes. The garden is a riot of colour, a complete contrast to the palace. Grass and moss make a soft carpet for a courtesan's bare feet. Flowering vines creep up trestles, beds of roses and lavender and plants that Jack has no name for are everywhere. Lunanoff doesn't grow plants for the sake of beauty, only for crops, so his knowledge of their names is lacking, but whatever they are called, they are beautiful. Lunanoff can keep its ostentatious decor; this is true grandeur.

"Do you like it?" Pitch asks, looking at Jack carefully as though seeking approval, and Jack grins up at him.

"It's beautiful."

"Yes," Pitch says. "But not nearly as lovely as my courtesan."

Jack can't help but laugh at that. "Really? That's kind of sappy."

Pitch stares at him for a moment, and then gives a crooked smile. "You are very different to how I thought you'd be. I have a lot to learn about you."

"That kind of makes us even then," Jack says. "Because I don't know anything about you, either."

"Then we can learn together," Pitch says. "And I'm looking forward to getting to know you."

He leans down to press their lips together.

Jack feels a flutter of fear but pushes it away. Closing his eyes, he feels a sudden rush of courage and slides his tongue along Pitch's top lip. Pitch makes an approving noise and flicks his tongue against Jack's, bites gently at his bottom lip. His arms go around Jack's waist, and Jack wants to return the gesture but he can't with his hands cuffed behind his back.

At his groan of frustration, Pitch pulls back slightly. "Is something the matter?"

"This is kind of a pain with my hands behind my back."

Pitch hesitates and then with a single touch to the cuffs, Jack's wrists are released. Pulling them around to the front, he rolls his shoulders to release the tension and then realises that there was nothing to hold the cuffs together.

"Where's the chain?"

"There wasn't a chain," Pitch says, pulling Jack's hands in front of him and touching them again. A shadow slides from beneath one of the cuffs and loops between the two rings of the cuffs. Jack pulls, hard, but the shadow is as strong as steel.

"Your magic," Jack murmurs.

"Yes; control over shadows is a very versatile kind of magic. There are many different uses for it –some more pleasurable than others."

Jack hitches an eyebrow. "Pleasurable?"

Pitch grins at him. "You'll see," he promises, and Jack blinks, curiosity rising in him like smoke. He tries to imagine what Pitch might mean but fails. He's looking forward to finding out. With another touch of Pitch's fingers to the cuffs, the shadow dissolves and Jack's wrists are free again.

Jack reaches up to slide his hands around the back of Pitch's neck and stands on his tiptoes to kiss him, a thank you. This is the first time that he's kissed Pitch and nervousness laps at him, but it quickly dissolves when Pitch responds, wrapping his arms around Jack's waist and biting gently at his bottom lip. He leaves a trail of kisses up Jack's jawline and bites his neck above the collar. It's not entirely gentle and it makes Jack shiver, startled by the way that the pain overlaps with pleasure.

"You like this don't you?" Pitch whispers, and Jack nods eagerly.

"Yes," he breathes, his hands curling in Pitch's robe.

"Even though you didn't want to be here - you want this?" And he realises that Pitch is seeing if he genuinely wants this - that he's not forcing him into anything - and his mouth opens but he can't form words. Pitch _cares_ about him. He's said that before but it's one thing it say it, another entirely to see it.

"I want it," Jack says, then pauses. "I don't- I've not done anything before. I don't know- All that stuff in the books, I have no idea about-" he stops and squeezes his eyes shut. Why is it so hard to explain?

"We'll take it slowly," Pitch murmurs, and resumes kissing and biting. "If you want me to stop, just say."

"Yeah? You're okay with that? Me not knowing anything – stopping if I want you to?"

Pitch pulls back. "Of course. I thought the books made it clear. A courtesan's role is not just to provide physical pleasure."

"I know, but that's part of it. And they usually know more than _nothing_."

"I don't care how much you know," Pitch says, shaking his head. "That can be learned. All I want is you. Don't worry; let me lead." He bites at Jack's earlobe and he yelps, startled at how good it feels. Pitch smirks at him. "Sensitive?"

"Yeah," Jack gasps, his hands tangling in Pitch's robes. "So keep doing it."

"You say that you don't have much experience but that's not stopping you from wanting it-"

"Yeah, I want it so please-"

Jack's begging is stopped abruptly when Pitch pushes him against the wall and kisses him, hard. He's cushioned by the flowers and their scent wraps around him, heady and intoxicating. Pitch presses his tongue into Jack's mouth, making him whimper. His hands return to the back of Pitch's neck, not wanting him to move away again and he opens his mouth for Pitch, licks back, strokes Pitch's tongue with his own. Pressing his hips against Pitch's, he moans to feel Pitch's cock, hard against his own.

Abruptly Pitch moves away and pulls on Jack's leash, leading him to a wide wooden bench. Being pulled by the leash like that confirms all of Jack's earlier thoughts – it can feel good. It makes him want to do anything Pitch asks of him, go anywhere he wants to take him, to follow him and kneel by his feet and lean his face into his hip-

Jack's thoughts are derailed when Pitch pushes him down onto the bench and climbs on top of him. It felt good to have Pitch's weight on top of him last night and it feels even better now, already turned on and touch-hungry. He moans, his hands scrabbling at the soft fabric of Pitch's robes.

Pitch's hands roam over his body and Jack's robes are so thin that Jack can feel everything. When Pitch's hand slides lower, ghosting over Jack's cock through the trews, he cries out, his back arching off the bench.

"You like that," Pitch purrs, and Jack nods frantically, not knowing or caring if it was a question.

Pitch continues to stroke him, with different pressures, concentrating on different parts of his cock and balls, until Jack is a whimpering, whispering mess. He could come from this, and he's not even being touched, not really.

When Pitch's hands move away, he's not sure whether to be glad or not, but there's barely a moment of relief before his fingers slide under the neck of his robes to tease at his nipples.

"Please," he begs, almost a sob. "Don't stop - I need-"

Pitch chuckles and kisses him again, his hands tangling in Jack's hair. His hips are pressed against Jack's and he moves, ever so slightly, just enough to get Jack whimpering again. He echoes Pitch's movements, circles his hips against Pitch's and gets an approving rumble for his efforts.

"That's good, Jack," Pitch murmurs against his lips. "So good."

Jack can only reply wordlessly, grinding his hips against Pitch's. Moving together, they get a good rhythm going and the last of Jack's ability to think evaporates. He's being weighed down and he can't escape, he doesn't want to. This is what he wants: to not think, to not feel any doubt or hurt. All he can feel is pleasure, and he sinks into it like a warm, dark ocean.

Pitch kisses him, bites at his lip, keeps running his hands up Jack's torso, and all the different sensations just pull him deeper. Nothing matters but the two of them, everything is good, it's perfect–

And then suddenly Pitch's hand is on Jack's cock, skin to skin. He cries out, fucking into Pitch's hand. It's so much more intense like this and in less than a minute he is crying out as he comes, his hand squeezing Pitch's arm so hard that he grunts in pain. Pleasure overwhelms him and he's unable to do anything but whimper and let it carry him where it will. He slumps down on the bench, gasping and feeling dazed, lost in a warm and pleasant place.

He hears Pitch cry out as well, feels drops of warmth on his stomach and chest, and then Pitch's weight on top of him, gasping in his ear.

When Jack can move again he slides his arms around Pitch, tucking his thumbs into the belt. He still can't think properly and he's more than happy with that this fuzzy satisfaction.

"That- that wasn't quite what I intended when I brought you here," Pitch says without moving, breathing a laugh and stroking his fingers through Jack's hair.

Jack grins and they lie there for a long while, listening to their breathing.

Pitch pushes himself up and looks down at them. Both of their robes are a mess, covered in come. He stands up, wincing, and pulls off his robe. Beneath he wears only trousers, unfastened. Jack stares at his softening cock and reaches out to touch it, stroking his fingers down its length. Pitch lets out a shaky breath and pushes Jack's hand away.

"I'm a little sensitive at the moment."

Jack lets Pitch strip him of the blue robe; the white one is still mostly clean. He smiles up at Pitch, enjoying the last of this lovely numbness.

"Are you alright?" Pitch asks as he folds their robes.

"Yes," Jack says, pushing himself up on his elbows. "I mean- It helped. Everything that's happened – all the things I can't stop thinking about – it made them all disappear for a while. I'm still kinda nervous about the whole – physical pleasure thing. But it really helped."

"It's better than thinking," Pitch says, as though he knows exactly what Jack means. Putting the robes down, he pulls Jack into his arms, kissing him gently. "Sometimes losing yourself in the physical can be a perfect distraction from the mental." He looks pensive for a moment, and Jack wonders what he's thinking about. Maybe he needs a little distracting himself.

"Yeah," he says. "That's it exactly."

Pitch smiles down at him and kisses him softly. "I would be more than happy to help you distract yourself, anytime you like."

Jack laughs and ducks his head to hide the blush that spreads across his cheeks. "I'll let you know."

This is nothing like he expected to happen today, but he's glad it did.

He was expecting the first time they made each other come to be an uncertain, muddled experience, but it was good. It was better than good, and better still because he feels more confident now, he feels like he can do this, if he decides to stay.

Maybe this won't be so bad after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack is blindfolded. It's a thin strip of material, made for prettiness rather than blocking out the light, but he's happy to play along. Beneath his feet Jack can feel as they move from sun-warmed stone to grass, though he doesn't know the palace grounds nearly enough to guess where they might be going. There is bird song in the air and the breeze is cool against his skin. It's only been a week since Pitch took him to the courtesan's garden and already he can feel a change in the temperature. With a thrill he wonders if there might be frost soon.

Pitch is leading him by the leash and by the hand. Over the past week Jack's gotten used to the leash. It makes him feel almost safe, knowing that Pitch is taking the lead; he can't misstep because he's following in someone else's footsteps.

He likes Pitch taking the lead in other areas, too, Jack thinks, and smiles. Though Jack always sets the limits – which so far has been nothing more than Pitch pleasuring Jack with his hand – Pitch always takes control, letting Jack lie back and just _feel_ as he is brought to shivering climax. It has the twofold benefit of distracting him from less than pleasant thoughts while also feeling incredible. Jack wonders what will happen today just as they come to a stop.

"I'm going to take your blindfold off," Pitch says; he's close enough that Jack can feel his body heat.

The cloth is removed from Jack's eyes, catching slightly on the silver slides in his hair. At first he sees only Pitch, standing before him, the pale grey skin of his chest revealed by the deep v of his robe. Jack lifts a hand to touch him, running his fingers from smooth skin to soft cloth. He looks up to see fierce possessiveness flare in Pitch's eyes. Jack's own smile widens. He might not used to having someone look at him like that but he likes it, a lot.

Grinning up at Pitch, he cocks his head. "So do you always blindfold boys and take them out into the middle of nowhere?"

"Only you, Jack."

Jack's caught off-guard by the feeling in Pitch's voice. His own want rises and he pushes onto his tiptoes to kiss Pitch, just briefly. Now it is Pitch who is off his guard. "Glad to hear it," he says, dropping back to the ground, but Pitch is not done with him. He slides his hand around Jack's waist to splay at his lower back, tugging him in against Pitch's body. It's a dizzying kiss, thoroughly claiming, and when Pitch pulls back, Jack's a little breathless.

"While your pleasure is always a part of my plans, I brought you here for another reason," Pitch says, standing aside so that Jack can see–

Water. More water than Jack has ever seen, ever imagined.

It stretches out before him, grey-blue, with sunlight dancing on the rippling surface. Around the distant edge of the lake, trees grow up to the shoreline, yellow and red leaves dotted amongst the green like splashes from a clumsy painter. The whole thing looks like a painting, Jack thinks. As though he could reach out and touch the canvas.

This is why he's here: for water. But instead of feeling angry or reliving the betrayal he just feels sad.

Even someone who pays as little attention in class as he does knows that most of the water on the planet is tainted. The Great War was ended by a powerful spell that spun out of control, rendering half the world inhabitable and tainting water supplies all over the planet. Three hundred years later, people are still paying the price of one man's arrogance.

The first time Jack had been told the tale, he had questioned why the mage had used a spell that could destroy so much. _It was war,_ was the only answer he ever got. Standing here before this life-giving lake, he understands that answer even less.

"It's beautiful," he whispers, feeling more reverent than he ever has in a temple.

"I'm glad you think so," Pitch says, kissing Jack's temple and leading him to a tent by the lakeside; a wooden frame covered in black cloth, its edge golden with embroidery. The cloth at the front is tied to the poles so that they can enjoy the view and within there is a low table and a cosy nest of cushions. Pulling Jack down onto them, Pitch removes his leash and taps a bell with one long finger.

Servants enter the tent to pour them wine and serve them an array of spicy-smelling dishes, spreading them out on the table in jewel-coloured bowls. Following Pitch's lead, Jack samples each of them. Some are familiar, some are strange, almost all are delicious. The wine is rich and strong, and by the time the food is gone Jack's head feels pleasantly fuzzy. He settles back on the cushions and gazes out at the play of sunlight on water as Pitch's arm slides over his shoulders. Pitch dismisses the servants and shifts to get more comfortable by Jack's side.

"Do you like it here?" Pitch asks.

Jack _hmms_ his agreement. How could he not? His belly is full and he is tipsy, he feels safe and cared for. Add to that the view and he couldn't be more content.

"What else would you like to see?" Pitch asks.

"What else is there?"

"Other lakes. Waterfalls, rose gardens. Meadows and woodlands."

"I'd like to see all of it," Jack says, finishing his wine and pouring more. "I want to see everything."

"Anything you want, Jack," Pitch says, his fingers idly tracing the lines of Jack's marking. Jack watches for a moment and then reaches for Pitch's other hand. Turning it palm up, he examines it.

"In Lunanoff, some people believe you can tell a person's heart by reading the lines of their palm."

"Oh? And what does mine say?"

Jack grins up at him. "Well, I never really paid attention to lessons. But if I had to guess I'd say that they tell of a man who's not as bad as people think. Who's actually kind of nice."

"I don't think I've ever been called _nice_ before," Pitch says, giving him an amused smile.

"You're nice to me. Especially for someone called the Nightmare King."

"The Nightmare King?" Pitch laughs, sounding delighted. "There's a name I've not heard in a while. But then they never did say it to my face."

"Then what do people call you?"

"Your highness," Pitch says with a smirk.

"Or _my king_," Jack says, remembering Pitch's words on that first day. Something flares in Pitch's eyes then, intense and bright. Want, Jack thinks. He wants me. He's seen it every day but it's still flattering, and every time Jack's body responds, heat unfurling at the base of his spine.

Jack sips his wine and looks out at the dance of the sunlight on the surface of the lake. Daily, Jack has felt how much pleasure Pitch's hands can bring him, but now he thinks of the courtesan book, with its vivid illustrations of things that are still a mystery. Out of the corner of his eye he looks at Pitch: he's done all of them and more, Jack is sure. And he seems like the kind of man who endeavours to excel in all things. It wouldn't be so bad if Jack took advantage of that, would it? After all, it's what Pitch wants, too.

"If you could do anything," Jack says, staring steadfastly out at the lake; if he were looking at Pitch he might lose his nerve. "To me. Right now. What would you do?"

Pitch's silence stretches out and eventually Jack has to look at him. When he does, the smile he sees on Pitch's lips has the curious effect of both unnerving him and making heat spread throughout his body.

"Not that I'd let you do _anything_," Jack says quickly. As much as he wants to know all there is to know about the pleasure Pitch can bring him, he still wants to be able to set limits, to take things as slowly as he needs to. "Just- In theory."

"In theory," Pitch repeats. "Alright then. If you were to let me, I would push your legs apart, pull your cock out of your trews and taste you. I'd make you come with my mouth, and then I'd kiss you so that you'd taste yourself. If you were to let me do what I wanted."

Jack's eyes widen and he can feel himself getting hard at the thought of it. "Alright," he says, swallowing thickly. Pushing his robe aside, he parts his legs and gives Pitch a smile, his increasing desire fuelling his confidence. "I'll let you do that."

Pitch smiles, slow and dangerous, and moves between Jack's legs, pushing them further apart until Jack can feel the stretch. He starts to stroke Jack's inner thigh along the seam of his trews, and Jack draws in a slow breath. Even through the fabric it feels as though Pitch's fingers are leaving a trail of sparks along his skin.

As he continues with featherlight touches, never quite reaching high enough, Jack gets harder and more breathless, startled that such soft touches can elicit such a reaction. When Jack gives a broken little moan Pitch gives a velvet laugh and leans over Jack to kiss him. Jack opens his mouth instantly, wanting the kind of kiss that will leave him shaking and unable to think. Pitch takes the invitation, tugging on Jack's hair to move him to where he wants him.

Both of them are breathing heavily by the time he moves back, and he gives Jack a wicked grin as he starts to trace the lines of Jack's cock through his trousers. Jack swallows down a groan as long fingers ghost up and down his shaft, drifting over his balls and underneath to the sensitive space between his legs. His movements are slow and whisper-soft, not nearly enough to sate Jack's rapidly growing need.

"Get on with it," Jack gasps when Pitch shows no intention of anything further.

"Has anyone ever done this to you before?"

"Never."

"Then I'll have to make sure I make your first time memorable."

"Yes please," Jack says, and though he's half-joking, Pitch's gaze jumps up to him, his eyes full of golden fire. "My king," Jack whispers, and Pitch leans down to kiss him, a hand pulling on Jack's hair and making him gasp. Pitch's tongue pushes into Jack's mouth, claiming, and Jack tangles his fingers in Pitch's robe, willingly ceding control.

"My courtesan," Pitch purrs, looking at Jack with so much longing that his breath catches in his throat. Pitch leans in and his kiss is sweeter this time; he bites gently at Jack's bottom lip before moving back to unbutton Jack's trews. Jack watches intently, feeling his heartbeat in his throat as Pitch pulls out his cock.

Pitch pushes his legs apart and settles between them. Jack has only a moment to be amused by the thought of a king prostrating himself like this before a courtesan; but then Pitch licks a stripe up Jack's shaft and his ability to think evaporates. His tongue is warm and wet, not like anything Jack's ever felt before. Pitch doesn't give him any time to get used to the feeling; holding him tightly around the base of his cock, Pitch licks him all over, his tongue darting into his slit, following the ridge under the head. The different sensations pile on top of one another and when Pitch wraps his lips around the head, Jack cries out, a hand reaching for Pitch's hair.

Pitch pulls away and gives Jack a wide, dangerous smile. "Now, now, Jack, none of that. Be a good boy or I'll have to tie you up."

Jack pauses, a thrill echoing through him at the words, at the thought of being restrained like that. He wants Pitch in control. If Pitch is in control then Jack doesn't have to worry about anything, all he has to do is lie back and enjoy it. "I think I'd like that," he says softly.

Pitch looks at him for a long moment and then kisses him fiercely. Jack feels something tug at his cuffs and he pulls back from Pitch to see shadows wrapped around the rings, pulling his hands above his head. The sight and the feel of it makes his cock throb.

"If you want releasing-" Pitch starts, but Jack nods eagerly.

"I want releasing, I tell you. I got it," Jack says, breathless, impatient for Pitch to continue.

He doesn't disappoint. Returning to his task, he runs his tongue over Jack's shaft until it is glistening and then slides his lips over the head once more, slowly taking Jack's cock into his mouth. His tongue continues to tease and Jack groans, collapsing back against the cushions.

He closes his eyes, trying to focus on how this feels. Wet. Hot. Slick. A hundred other things that Jack's brain is too distracted to name. Pitch pulls all the way back, licking over the head and smiling up at Jack before taking him in his mouth again. Jack whimpers as Pitch continues, wrapping one hand tightly around the base of Jack's cock while the other snakes up Jack's body, slipping under his robe to tease at his nipples.

All Jack can do is lie there, subject to Pitch's ministrations, getting steadily noisier as the pleasure melts away all restraint.

And then he comes, his back arching and stars whirling behind his eyelids. He pulls at his restraints as pleasure crashes over him, consuming him, filling him. The intensity of it takes him by surprise, pulsing through him. When it ebbs away he feels almost empty but in a good way. Shining and new, all the pain burned away in a flash of pleasure, at least for now.

"Gods," he whispers, falling against the cushions. He's shivering and Pitch kisses his way up his body, looking into his eyes searchingly, and then kisses him softly. Feeling fuzzy, Jack kisses back and feels the emptiness settle. Pitch pulls back to look at him again, and this time he smiles.

"You're so beautiful when you come," he says, stroking Jack's cheek. "You're always beautiful."

Kissing him once more, he slides his tongue into Jack's mouth. With a start, Jack realises that he is tasting his come on Pitch's tongue. He's tasted himself before, struck by curiosity after pleasuring himself; but tasting himself on Pitch's mouth is another thing entirely and he shivers pleasantly.

Jack feels Pitch reach between their bodies as he continues to kiss Jack, feels him begin to stroke himself.

"Let me," he whispers, and Pitch pauses to look at him closely before reaching up to release Jack's wrists. He kisses each one in turn. Swallowing away his nerves, Jack takes Pitch's cock in his hand. This is the first time he's done this; every other time after reaching his own climax he has let Pitch do as he wished. This time, he wants to repay him.

Pitch's cock is hot to the touch, hotter than Jack's ever gets. It is bigger too, a lot bigger, and the feel of it in his hand makes Jack draw in a breath. He strokes it slowly, watching Pitch's eyes close, his lips part as he moans softly.

"That's good, Jack," he says, and the encouragement makes Jack move faster. He does what he knows, what he likes when he's jerking himself off, and he marvels at the way Pitch's moans come more quickly as he works. It makes him bolder and he tightens his grip, sliding his other hand down to cup Pitch's balls and squeeze gently. As Pitch lowers his head, gasping against Jack's neck, Jack grins and keeps going. He can feel Pitch's body shaking against his, the tremors getting stronger as his moans grow ever louder.

Suddenly he cries out, his whole body tensing up and he comes, across Jack's hand and stomach. Collapsing onto Jack, he gasps for breath and squeezes Jack's shoulders hard.

Pulling his hand free, Jack looks at the thick, milky strands of Pitch's come. He flicks his tongue out. The taste is slightly bitter, but the knowledge that he made it happen is sweet.

Jack smiles, feeling victorious. Pitch's breath in his ear makes him shiver and he lifts a hand to card through Pitch's hair. That was a wonderful way to spend the afternoon. Even – especially – having his hands bound. He feels Pitch shift on top of him and opens his eyes to see Pitch looking down at him with such intensity that Jack can't breathe for a moment.

"Mine," Pitch whispers, possessiveness seeping through the word, and Jack's eyes widen. Pitch's expression softens into a smile. "Not yet," he amends and strokes Jack's cheek, tracing his jawline and then running over the edge of his collar. "I'm not fool enough to think that I'm the one you want. Anyone would do to distract you; to make you feel good."

Jack blinks up at him, trying to formulate an answer that won't offend Pitch. As much as he is grateful for Pitch's knowledge and experience, for the way he knows how to touch and tease until Jack is a whimpering mess, anyone _would_ do. This isn't about Pitch; it's all about Jack. About him exploring and learning but mostly about forgetting everything in a haze of pleasure.

Pitch merely smiles a little wider and kisses Jack's forehead. "No matter. I still have almost three weeks to change your mind. That will be more than enough."

"Confident, aren't you," Jack says with a laugh and grins up at him. "I'm certainly looking forward to seeing you try."

When Pitch leans in to kiss him, Jack finds himself wondering just how many kinds of kisses Pitch has. With Jamie it was always the same: soft and wondering, both of them hesitant and nervous. Pitch seems to have an encyclopaedic range of them: soft enough to make Jack's heart ache, hot enough to make him hard, slow enough to make him shiver.

This time it is slow and lazy and indulgent, and Jack melts into it, sighing against Pitch's lips. They part and Pitch pushes himself off Jack, gently cleaning them both up. Jack lies there, letting Pitch look after him, and his eyes slide shut.

* * *

All is darkness. Stagnant, lifeless air settles in his throat, choking him, and he reaches out desperately for something to orientate himself.

The place is small, too small to stand. Reaching out he finds walls; using his hands to guide him, his searching fingers locate a door, the metal handle cool under his fingers. It turns easily and he blinks against the sudden brightness of the world outside. In the time that it takes him to adjust to the light he already knows where he is.

The thick, choking incense of the temple in Lunanoff fills his nose. Memories that he's been desperately supressing crash to the surface and with a choked cry of fear he runs through the gilded halls until he is in the main temple hall, full of rainbow light and sweet fresh air.

He sobs and falls to his knees, accidentally prostrate before the statue of the moon god. Jack looks up at that familiar face, the features so similar to his own, and feels both joy and despair war within him. He's home. Where everyone he knows and loves betrayed him.

He stays there for a long time on his knees, looking up at the statue. He's never been one for prayer, avoiding services and lessons both. He doesn't think the moon god would listen to him anyway. No-one else in Lunanoff ever did.

Slowly he becomes aware of voices outside. They are too distant for him to identify but with a terrible sense of inevitability he stands and walks to the doors of the temple. _No,_ he thinks, _I don't want to_, but his feet don't listen. They keep going until he is outside.

Now that he knows what the real sun is like, the daylight of the dome is dull and feeble; the still air is stagnant and stale. It makes him feel claustrophobic and he longs to feel the sun on his skin, or the wind in his hair. Still Jack's feet move, and as he grows closer the voices become recognisable. North and Bunny. His brothers, their voices joined in laughter.

"No," he says again, aloud this time, but still he cannot stop. Inexorable as a falling guillotine he gets closer until he sees them. Tooth is with them, Jamie too. No-one looks as he approaches; they are too busy laughing at one of North's stories.

Finally Jack's feet answer his call and he stops, still in the shadow of the temple. His friends and family are bathed in the imitation of light not ten feet away.

He realises he is wearing one of the robes that Amber made, his favourite: blue with feathery white embroidery on the neckline. It feels strange to be wearing it in Lunanoff, and he runs his fingers over it. The sheer material is soft beneath his touch and something about it soothes him, gives him courage. If he's brave enough to be Pitch's courtesan he can speak to his family.

"Hey," he calls, but no-one looks at him. "Hey!" Still he is ignored. Frustration growing, he steps out of the shadows toward them.

"Why did you let them send me?" Jack asks. "Why didn't you help me?"

Still they ignore him, and with a thick sense of dread Jack feels familiarity seep over him. He knows this; he's lived it a hundred times at official feasts or family meals, whenever his father was present. He would be alone in a room full of people because when the king ignores someone, everyone ignores them. Each time his father would shun his youngest son, and each time it hurt a little more. Now there isn't even have the excuse of tradition.

Memories of fun times with his siblings race through his mind. Sword training with North; tending the plants with Bunny; racing across the city with Tooth. He always thought that they at least loved him. But then he's been wrong about so many things. Was he wrong about that as well?

"You could have just _asked_ me," Jack says, his eyes blurring with tears. He wipes at his eyes fiercely; he will not let them see him cry. "I would have said yes. I think. I mean- if you'd told me that people were _dying_ - if you'd told me the truth. If you gave me the _choice_!"

Tooth turns, and Jack's heart leaps. She was the only one who made any indication of even wanting to help him - now she will-

She walks straight through him.

Jack's eyes widen and he can't breathe. He grasps his chest, trying to prove to himself that he is still here, that he's real. He turns to her and whispers her name brokenly, but she pays no more attention to him than before.

He steps back as though he could so easily step away from what's happening to him. Bunny stands up to lope after Tooth, and when he walks through Jack the world falls apart.

* * *

Jack wakes wide-eyed and gasping. Instantly he knows it was a dream, that he's here in Umbra, but it doesn't help. He's here _because_ his friends and family didn't help him, because no-one cares about him-

But then a warm hand squeezes his shoulder and he looks into the worried grey-and-gold eyes of the Nightmare King.

Jack looks up at him, feeling tears in his eyes and willing them not to fall.

"It's alright," Pitch murmurs, pulling Jack into his arms. "You're alright, Jack. It was just a dream."

There's no such thing as just a dream, Jack thinks. Not anymore.

"Nightmares," he whispers, his hand curling into Pitch's robe. "Ever since I came here. I don't remember them but I always feel like this when I wake. I _hate_ it."

Pitch is quiet for long moments. His hand strokes through Jack's hair and slowly it calms him. Remembering the dream so clearly has taken him unawares. He's used to the vague feeling of unease every morning, but this time was different and it makes his heart ache.

"It's alright," Pitch says again, and Jack moves back, wiping at his eyes fiercely.

"Yeah, it is. If they didn't want me, that's their loss, right?"

Pitch smiles and touches Jack's cheek. "There you are," he says, and Jack blinks.

"I- I've been here all along?"

"No," Pitch says. "You haven't. I won't pretend to know the real you, but I'm being to recognise the shape of you. I always thought that you would be soft and gentle; pliable and innocent."

"So - if I'm not that, what am I?"

"Strong-willed and smart. Quick and sharp as a sword. And strong, Jack. Maybe you don't see that yet, but you are."

Jack's eyes widen and he gives a bark of a laugh at the description. Is that truly what Pitch sees when he looks at Jack? In the mirror Jack sees a lost boy, trying to understand what has happened to him and hiding his hurt with smiles. He wonders which of them is closer to the truth. "So do you like what you thought I was, or what you think I am now better?"

"I like _you_," Pitch says, kissing him gently on the lips. "And I-"

"Pitch?"

It's Onyx, though there's a hesitant note in her voice that Jack hasn't heard before. Pitch calls her forward and her eyes glance at them quickly before she gives a sigh of relief, possibly that they're both dressed.

"Your highness, a communique has arrived that requires your attention."

Pitch frowns at her. "Why didn't you bring it here?"

Onyx's eyes dart to Jack and then back to Pitch. "It's from Lunanoff. A response to the message you sent after finding out that Jack had been forced to come here," she says and then sighs. As she shakes her head, her long hair shifts like a veil of shadow. "It will either upset Jack, or it will make you angry. Either way, I think you should see it before Jack does."

"If it's about me-" Jack starts, but Onyx shakes her head.

"Jack, please. Trust me on this," she says, and then turns to Pitch. "It requires action, so I've called the councillors together. They'll be meeting in the council chambers shortly."

"Alright," Pitch says, annoyance clear in his voice. "I'll go. Accompany Jack to his rooms." He pauses, and touches Jack's cheek softly. "I may be some time, but I'll come to you as soon as I can."

Pitch heads towards the palace with long, angry strides, his robe billowing behind him.

With reluctance Jack stands and glares out at the lake as though it is to blame for his predicament. "Every time I think I know where I stand, something like this happens."

"You do know where you stand," Onyx says from behind him. "You're the king's courtesan. Pitch would never let anyone hurt you. While you're here, you're safe. You needn't fear."

There are too many things that Jack could say in response to that, so he says nothing. He turns from the lake and starts walking, hoping he's going in the right direction.

It's not that he fears being hurt, not physically. It's his feelings that are being torn asunder and there is little that Pitch can do to save him from that.

He wishes fiercely that Lunanoff would leave him alone. They sent him here yet still they cast a shadow over his life. His thoughts slip back to his dream and he frowns. Does his family think of him at all? Does Jamie? Do they miss him or is he just a memory, a ghost?

Lunanoff haunts him still, but the only answers to his questions come in dreams that he can't remember. That he doesn't want to remember.

"You're thinking too much," Onyx says, breaking him out of his circular thoughts.

Jack gives her a weak grin. "That's the first time anyone's accused me of _that_. If I end up going back to Lunanoff how about you put that in writing for my tutors?"

She smiles softly, her eyes gentle. "Honestly, Jack. I know you're in a difficult situation, but overthinking things isn't going to help. Even if you were here of your own choice, no-one would expect you to be used to your new role yet. That's what the promise month is for. To explore your new life - to be sure it's what you want."

"I, uh- I might have already done some exploring," Jack says, his cheeks heating up and his grin widening as he thinks about it.

"If you're talking about Pitch, I'm not sure I want to know."

"Sorry," Jack says, still grinning. "It's fun, but- It's weird to feel this way."

"If you're attracted to him, that's a good thing."

"I'm not sure it is attraction. I mean-" Jack pauses, realising that he perhaps shouldn't be saying this to Pitch's cousin. Then again, Pitch himself already said as much. "It's not- I don't know if I want _Pitch_ exactly. But I want someone, that's for sure."

Onyx laughs at that. "You're eighteen, Jack. That's to be expected. Not to mention that stress can lower your inhibitions. When I was in the army-" She stops herself, eyes wide for a moment at her slip, before smoothing back her hair and continuing on in silence.

"When you were in the army?" Jack nudges, not willing to give up so easily on hearing a juicy tidbit from Onyx's past.

"I may have done some things I wouldn't normally do. Things that you're never going to find out about."

"Spoilsport," Jack says, but it's with a real grin. "Maybe Amber will tell me."

"Not if she wants to live."

By the time Jack gets back to his rooms, he's feeling better. Whatever this communique from Lunanoff is about, it's not going to change anything. It's his choice whether or not to stay. They tried to take that away from him once; he won't let them do it again.

"I should go," Onyx says. "I've left him alone with the councillors and they will be less than happy with me. Try and relax, Jack. Take things easy. We'll deal with it; you don't need to worry about a thing."

After she's gone he settles onto his balcony with a book about courtesans of famous kings. Perhaps the life of a courtesan is perfect for him, Jack thinks. While doing his duty and helping to stop a war, he gets to experience nothing but pleasure.

He chuckles at his thoughts and opens the book.

* * *

It's late when Pitch comes to Jack, late enough that he's fallen into a light snooze on the balcony.

Pitch wakes him with a shake to the shoulder and a smile. "Now what did I tell you about falling asleep outside?"

"I wouldn't have fallen asleep if you hadn't kept me waiting so long."

A shadow crosses Pitch's face but then he startles Jack by picking him up in a princess carry, just as he did that first night.

Jack laughs lightly and hides his face against Pitch's neck. He thinks of what Pitch said earlier - that anyone would do. For the first time, Jack wonders if that's true.

Pitch sets Jack on the bed and goes to the closet, gets the bed robe and hands them to Jack, letting him change his own clothes rather than undressing him. Such a little thing but it means so much. Jack smiles down at the robe and goes into the bathroom to change.

When he comes out, Pitch is looking at one of the books from Jack's bookcase. A tome of Selenan history, a dusty book about a country almost entirely extinct.

"If you want to know about Selena, you could just ask the Selenan in the room, you know."

"I could," Pitch says, closing the distance with three strides and kissing Jack firmly. "But you have never even seen Selena and the more I get to know you, the less I think you are one for book learning."

"You're right," Jack says with a grin, putting his hand on Pitch's chest. "I prefer hands on learning."

"So I've seen," Pitch says and takes Jack's hand in his, leading him over to the bed.

"The communique was not from your father or Benard, but a councillor named Marek. Do you know him?"

"Not really," Jack shrugs. "My friend was his apprentice. He's something to do with making sure things run properly – the roads, the healing halls, that kind of thing. Administrative stuff."

"And the water – he would be responsible for that?"

"Yes," Jack says, very quietly.

"He's asked me to meet him tomorrow in the city hall, where I met with Benard and your father. Since we don't have time to deny him, I have little choice."

"Is- is that it?" Jack's not sure what he was expecting. Something personal. A note from someone. _Anything._

"Yes," Pitch says, sighing and reaching for Jack's hands. "There was no apology. No explanation." It makes Jack's heart hurt but he isn't surprised. "It doesn't matter. I don't want an apology from this stranger. It is Benard and the king – they are the ones who need to apologise to you."

Jack's head snaps up to stare at Pitch. "To me? But they lied to you-"

"And they forced you into this! They should apologise to you. They should beg for your forgiveness," Pitch says and suddenly Jack is kissing him. Nothing planned, not even a thought. He just needed to kiss this man who seems to care for him more than anyone else ever has.

"Thank you," Jack whispers, and rests his head in the crook of Pitch's shoulder. Long moments pass like that, Pitch stroking his hair, until Pitch pulls back.

"I have something for you," he says, and withdraws a small vial from his robes. He hands it to Jack. It is delicate glass with a black stopper, and it is full of golden sand, from a far off beach maybe. Jack wonders if he might one day see it.

"It's very pretty."

"It's not just a trinket," Pitch says, and sits on the bed beside Jack. "Earlier, you were asking why I am called the Nightmare King. There are many reasons, some true and some false, but it all began with this sand."

Jack peers dubiously at the vial. "People call you the Nightmare King because of some sand."

Pitch glances at him cooly. "It's not _just_ sand, and the story will go much quicker if you let me speak."

Jack holds his hands up in surrender, and makes himself comfortable against the cushions. As he moves, the robe falls from a shoulder and Pitch stares hungrily. Catching him looking, Jack puts the robe back as it should be with false modesty and waves for him to continue while trying not to smile. He's finding that he likes to tease Pitch.

"When I was younger, I was a soldier. When I first joined the military - before I proved myself - I was treated as a spoiled prince. Not trusted with anything important I was given a place on a galleon, doing nothing more than rudimentary scouting missions. We sailed the seas between Selena and the port of Varyn. The waters had only recently become safe to sail but we weren't expecting to find much. We _didn't_ find much, save for one tiny, uninhabited island, covered in golden sand, forming strange shapes. That sand."

Jack looks down at the vial in his hand. That island might be part of Selena; this might be the closest to his ancestral homeland that he's ever been. The thought fills him with wonder.

"The seas were rough but there was a calm bay on the island where we stayed overnight. In the morning, the talk over breakfast was of the sweetest dreams that any of us had ever had. When the storm raged a second night, these pleasant dreams continued. Despite the protests of the others I went onto the island to investigate. There was nothing but sand. I wondered if perhaps the sand itself could be causing the dreams.

"I took a few jars off the stuff when we set sail again, experimenting with it. If it could give good dreams, might it not also cause nightmares?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

" Because I was proud and had to prove myself worthy to my father. My thought was that if the sweet dreams the island caused have my men a spring in their step, might not nightmares make an enemy slow and tired, easier to beat? And if it was possible to manipulate those nightmares, you could make them doubt each other – even doubt their allegiance to their country. A nightmare can be a powerful weapon."

"I guess..." The thought of controlling nightmares or causing them makes unease settle on Jack's shoulders like a cloak. He knows the power of nightmares; he feels it every day. It seems wrong to him to use something as intimate as a dream as a weapon.

"It was neither easy nor quick, but our voyage took half a year. And I did it. My shadows tainted the dreamsand, turned it black - turned it into nightmare sand. It worked as well as I could ever have hoped. I received a commendation and a promotion, as well as my father's praise. And that is where the name came from. I haven't used nightmare sand in many a year, but I keep some small stores of it-"

"Is that what's causing my nightmares?!" Jack asks, sitting upright. If that's the cause then it will be easy to stop-

"No, Jack," Pitch says with a shake of his head. "The jars are all firmly sealed. But this dreamsand might help. Open the vial as you go to sleep and perhaps it will bring you sweet dreams, as it did to me and my men so many years ago."

Jack closes his hand around the vial, perhaps the most precious gift he has ever been given, and wonders if the moon god heard his prayers after all.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and for your favs and comments :) They're so lovely to read, and they keep me posting and writing!


	6. Chapter 6

The morning is beginning beautifully when Pitch steps into Jack's room.

Jack stands up to greet him, already feeling happy and relaxed thanks to a night of good dreams. Thanks to the dreamsand he had the best night's sleep not just since since arriving in Umbra but possibly ever, and he gives Pitch a sweet, lingering kiss of thanks.

"Good morning," Jack says, his voice husky. Relaxed easily slips into desire, and he trails his fingers over Pitch's collarbone, slipping around to the back of his neck to pull him in for another, longer kiss.

"Apparently it is a good morning," Pitch smirks, holding Jack tightly to him. "Sweet dreams, I assume?"

"Very sweet. I don't remember a single one of them but I feel great."

"Much as I would love to celebrate with you, the carriage will be leaving shortly. I've just come to say that I'll be gone most of the day, and Onyx will be taking care of you."

"Wait," Jack says with a frown. "I thought I was coming with you."

"No," Pitch says, shaking his head decisively. "It's too dangerous. If the Lunanovans attack-"

Jack steps back, putting his hands on his hips and feeling his stubbornness rise. "If it's too dangerous for me then it's too dangerous for you-"

"Not to mention what they might say to try and hurt you."

"But my friend might be there - the one who works for Councillor Marek. If I could see him-"

"Would you ask why he didn't help you? Why he let your father cast you aside-"

"Yes," Jack says, and pulls Pitch down for another kiss. If Pitch is kissing him then he can't be denying Jack, and the more Jack kisses him, the more likely he is to say yes. It's only been two weeks but already Jack has a good idea of how to get his own way. "Please," he says, licking into Pitch's mouth, biting his lower lip gently. "Please."

"Jack," Pitch says, but his voice is gone rough and his hands bunch in Jack's bed robe. He takes charge of the kiss this time, and Jack lets him. By the time Pitch pulls back Jack's thoughts are scattered like leaves on the wind and he blinks, trying to remind himself that he is supposed to be carrying out a plan.

"C'mon," Jack says. "Please. I just want to see him. If anyone would have helped me it would have been Jamie. And if he did - it would make me feel so much better. Please."

"And what is this Jamie to have been the only one to help you?"

Jack has to swallow down the urge to smile at the jealousy in Pitch's voice. "He's my best friend. My only real friend. It wouldn't make me change my mind about whether to stay here, if he did try to help me - but it would make me happy. Please. Just- I need to know."

Pitch looks unhappy so Jack kisses him again. "And when we get back, I'll let you bring me off with your mouth again," he whispers.

The corner of Pitch's mouth quirks into a smile. "I do believe you're trying to bribe me."

"Is it working?"

"Yes," Pitch says and steps back. "You are a wily one, Jack. Don't think I'm going to forget that." He takes a berry from Jack's breakfast tray. "I'll go and tell the councillors to leave without me."

"So that's a yes?"

Pitch nods and Jack gives a cry of joy and victory, pulling Pitch into a kiss that threatens to distract both of them.

"You need to get dressed," Pitch says without pulling back. "I'll tell the councillors to go on without us and I'll take you to the city through the shadows."

"Thank you," Jack says with a grin, excitement bubbling in him at the prospect of seeing Jamie.

"You're welcome," Pitch says, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips. "Really I suppose I should be grateful to you. It means I miss out on an hour of hearing my councillors discuss the finer points of negotiation. I can't say I've ever had a taste for it."

"You could have fooled me. From what I've seen you're a master of negotiation – at least when it comes to convincing me to try new things."

Pitch throws him a grin and gives him one last berry-flavoured kiss before departing.

* * *

An hour later, Jack is ready.

The outfit is different than anything Jack has worn in Umbra. It's not sheer; instead it is brocade and rich velvet, black on black, emphasising his paleness. Pitch is leading Jack through the hallways of the palace by the hand rather than the leash.

_If you are to be seen by people of Lunanoff, it will not be as the slave they sent you to be,_ Pitch said, and other than bare feet and the collar around his neck, Jack feels as much a prince as he ever has.

As it gets closer to the meeting, though, nerves are starting to creep in. What if Jamie didn't care about Jack getting sent to Umbra? What if he prefers Lunanoff without Jack there? Jack tries to push away the doubts but they follow him like vultures.

"It will be strange to travel by shadows," Pitch warns as they head up a spiralling staircase.

"No stranger than the silver bridge from Lunanoff," Jack says, but if anything he is worried that it will stir those memories and he will panic like he did when Amber tried to undress him. He doesn't want Pitch to see him like that. He doesn't want to _feel_ like that.

They step into a long corridor with a tapestry down one wall. Jack looks at it in surprise – it's the first decoration he's seen in Umbra. It's made of many types of threads, all of them black. Strange shapes are just visible, woven in different shades of blackness. Jack can't tell what they are, if they're meant to be anything at all, but they seem almost alive. They make him feel unsettled, like hearing a noise in an empty room, and he looks away.

They come to a halt before a set of doors, black, carved with patterns like the ones in the tapestry.

"This room is specially made for royalty of Umbra to travel through shadows. There are corresponding rooms in all other residences and official buildings."

"Sounds like an easy way to travel," Jack says, aiming for humour but his voice is flat, affected by the strange tapestry and worrying about what Jamie's reaction might be.

"Are you ready?" Pitch asks, and Jack nods jerkily as his thoughts continue to race. He isn't ready. What if Jamie just looks away when he sees Jack? What if he ignores him, like in the dream?

"Jack-" Pitch starts, worry in his voice, and Jack nods with more certainty this time.

"I'm ready. I'm good."

Pitch pauses and then sighs. "I need to learn how to say no to you," he says and leans in to kiss Jack softly, and it helps to still his panic. Jack's arms go around Pitch's waist gratefully and he gives himself over to the kiss. The thought comes to him, unexpected, _I wish he had the leash_. It would anchor him; still some of his worries.

_And how would I explain_ that _to Jamie_, Jack thinks and his smile becomes more real.

"I'm okay," he says, to himself as much as Pitch.

"Just be sure to keep hold of my hand," Pitch says, and opens the doors. Small windows high in the ceiling let in slanted shards of light, making the room dark and full of shadows. It's hard to see anything at all and Jack holds Pitch's hand tighter.

They step forward and the world falls away.

It feels like falling. That same terror-excitement, the tug in the stomach, everything gone topsy-turvy. The breath is sucked from his lungs and his head spins wildly. When the world coalesces again, light and shape reasserting themselves, he grabs onto Pitch's arm to steady himself as dizziness overcomes him.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm okay," Jack says, lifting his spinning head. Pitch looks doubtful so Jack forces a smile to stop his worrying. They're here now; if Pitch changes his mind he might never see Jamie again.

He forces himself to ignore the dizziness and examine the room they've arrived in. It's long, with dark wooden floors and walls painted dark grey. There are no tapestries here, no strange carvings, and Jack is glad; as useful as the room of shadows might be, he hopes he doesn't have to see it very often. There is only one window, in the opposite wall, ensuring that this end of the room is always cloaked in shadows.

Walking over, Jack gazes out of the window to see his first glimpse of an Umbran city. It looks like Lunanoff but without all of the fanciful facades. Rather than austere, Jack finds Umbran architecture striking: clean lines, grey stone, the only decoration geometric patterns and the occasional watchful gargoyle.

When he looks down he sees people on the streets below, hurrying about their business. Having become so used to the palace, he expects to a population almost entirely grey-skinned; instead he sees more variety than he's ever seen before. Pale cream and dark brown skin, hair in more colours than could've imagined. And their clothes - many dress like the people in the palace but he sees a group of women in bright beaded dresses and birdlike headdresses; a man in a jewel-covered robe that would be considered extravagant even in Lunanoff.

"So many people," Jack says as he looks out, Pitch's arm over his shoulders.

"Iscadin is a port city. People from all of the country – from all over the world – come to do business. There's always something to see even for someone who has lived in Umbra all his life. I used to love coming here as a child."

Jack glances up at him. "Not anymore?"

"Now I only come here on official business. It's become synonymous with dull assemblies or tense meetings requiring me to be patient and diplomatic, neither of which I particularly enjoy."

Biting down on an urge to say _no kidding_, Jack smiles. "We could come here, just the two of us. You could show me around – it might be fun."

Pitch gives him a wintry smile. "Perhaps."

They step into the corridor, where two guards stand outside the door. Like the guards in the palace, they wear layered armour made from dark metal with little embellishment. Both of them bow their heads respectfully.

"Your highness," one of them says in a deep voice. "The councillors have arrived and await you in the antechamber."

"And the man from Lunanoff?"

"In the conference chamber with two of the kingsguard. For his safety, of course."

"Of course," Pitch says with a tight smile, and then turns to Jack. "Last chance to change your mind."

"I'm not changing my mind."

They set off, the guards falling into step behind them. Though the city hall is not nearly so large as Pitch's palace and with less of the subtle grandeur, Jack sees the same elements of Umbran design: geometric patterns and dark colours, though the main material is wood rather than stone tile. Mostly though he looks out of the windows, looking down at the people and wondering what their stories are. It's an attempt to keep his mind from Jamie but it works poorly.

_What if he ignores me?_

The thought repeats itself in Jack's mind and his anxiety increases each time. He tries to tell himself that Jamie won't ignore him, Jamie has never ignored him, even when everyone else did - _but what if he does?_

As they approach a set of open doors, a man that Jack hasn't seen before steps out to greet them. He is older, his hair pure grey, but he still exudes power. It's his broad shoulders, maybe; or his silvery eyes, shining with confidence, as though he knows whatever happens, he can deal with it.

"Your highness," he says, bowing slightly, and then to Jack's surprise, he turns to him as well. "Welcome to Iscadin, Jack. I hope it's alright if I call you that?"

"Of course," Jack says automatically. He's so used to being ignored by everyone in Lunanoff that it's a genuine surprise to be greeted, especially so warmly.

"I'm Alden," he says. "Pitch's chief councillor. It's a pleasure to meet you finally."

"Thank you," Jack says softly, not sure why a councillor would be pleased to meet him as a courtesan when councillors at home didn't care much to see him when he was a prince. There's a formidable friendliness to Alden that reminds Jack a little of North. Despite the way that comparison makes Jack's heart ache, he decides he likes him.

"Pitch, we haven't yet spoken to Councillor Marek. We thought it best to wait for you."

"Good," Pitch says. "Go in and tell him that we will be in shortly."

"Of course."

Bowing his head, Alden turns to go back into the room, leaving Jack and Pitch alone save for the guards, who have taken their places either side of the doors. Pitch turns to Jack.

"Normally when a courtesan accompanies his king to a meeting like this, he kneels on the floor by his feet. It's symbolic, to remind everyone of the king's power. But I will not have them seeing you as a slave. Stand behind me, with your hand on my shoulder." He strokes Jack's hair gently. "I know you're eager to speak to your friend, but let me speak to the councillor first."

Jack nods. "Alright."

They step through the doors. The room is large and bright, wide windows on the opposite wall, covered with sheer curtains that lend privacy but let in the light. Most of the space is taken up with a wooden table, surrounded by far more chairs than there are people. Jack's eyes immediately scan the room for Jamie, but he doesn't see him. Disappointment is dagger-sharp.

On this side of the room sits Alden, along with two other men and a woman in similar robes. On the other side of the room is an old man who gets to his feet slowly; Jack vaguely recognises him as Councillor Marek. A young man Jack recognises by sight but doesn't know stands by his side, an untidy ream of papers in his arms. Both of them wear the fussy, overly embroidered clothes of Lunanoff and look completely out of place. Either side of them are two guards in gleaming silver armour glaring at two black-clad Umbran guards on the opposite side of the room.

Pitch takes a seat opposite Marek and puts his hands on the tabletop, interlacing his fingers. Jack stands behind him, hand on his shoulder.

Marek's gaze slides over Jack, lingering for only a moment before looking at Pitch with runny eyes.

"King Pitch," he says in a voice like old paper. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"A pleasure," Pitch says, his voice low and dangerous. Marek seems to notice and he glances at his guards as if to make sure that his protectors are still there. "You come to me after ignoring every point of my letter and then you have the gall to greet me so jovially?"

"Your- letter? Please accept my apologies, I was not privy to your letter." He sits again. "Councillor Benard told me to come here and discuss the matter of transporting the water. I was not actually expecting to see your royal highness – I thought I would be dealing with councillors, like myself."

"And yet here I am," Pitch says. "Let me tell you why: I want answers. I want to know why a kingdom would force its youngest prince into a life of slavery."

"I-" Marek starts, and his eyes quickly leap to Jack and away again. "I had nothing to do with that."

"You had nothing to do with it? A councillor in charge of water had nothing to do with the treaty to provide water to Lunanoff? I don't believe you."

"I - I knew, of course. It was Benard that arranged all of it, but yes, I knew about it."

"And you approved of sending Jack to an unknown country without telling him anything of it?"

"I-" Marek glances at Jack and then looks away again. "I don't know if I _approved_-"

"Did you tell them that you didn't approve? Did you speak up?"

"Benard leads the council - and I couldn't speak against the king-"

Pitch slams his hand on the table and Marek jerks back. Jack does too. This furious Pitch is so different than the gentle man Jack has come to know these past few weeks. It startles him; it scares him a little too.

"You could! And you should! Jack is eighteen and you sold him for water!"

"We need water-"

With a start Jack realises that the room is growing darker. It is as though the sheer curtain over the windows has become opaque, as though night has come many hours early. Tension in the room grows sharply – not just tension but fear, too. With wide eyes, Jack sees shadows slither along the floor towards Marek, inching along in violent, jerky movements. They emerge from the wall and darkness spreads throughout the room, destroying what little light is left, and Jack feels fear rise in his chest.

"Your highness," Alden says sharply. Pitch goes very still. Slowly the shadows retreat and light returns to the room. Jack lets out a shaky breath and Marek gives a sound that is almost a whimper and pulls his arms into his chest like he's hugging himself. Beneath Jack's hand, Pitch's shoulder relaxes.

"Is your friend here, Jack?" he says, looking up at him.

"No," Jack says, gathering his wits. He looks over at Marek. "Where's Jamie?"

For a moment Marek's mouth opens without speaking, and then he clears his voice, a high, squeaking sound. "I- it was thought best not to bring him-"

"Look at Jack when you are talking to him," Pitch says sharply and Marek's wide eyes dart to Jack's face.

"We thought he might try and rescue you. Jeopardise the peace treaty. He did it before, you see, when he was told you were to be sent to Umbra, he tried to break into the temple to free you. He had to be detained and was freed only when I spoke for him. He's a good boy, but reckless. So you see I couldn't risk bringing him - it is my reputation on the line. You do see, don't you," Marek says, his voice desperate now, and he looks to Pitch to see if his answer is acceptable.

Marek continues to ramble about his reputation, but Jack doesn't care. Jamie tried to help him. He puts a hand to his mouth to hide a grin so wide it's almost painful but there are tears in his eyes as well.

_He tried to save me!_

"Jack?" Pitch stands and puts his hands on Jack's waist. The concern in his eyes only makes Jack's smile grow even wider behind his hand. "We're having a break," Pitch tells Marek, sparing him a split second of a glance and leading Jack to the door.

"The meeting has barely started-"

Pitch looks over his shoulder and the light flees the room again. Shards of shadow loom over Marek like a clawed hand. With a whimper Marek falls back in his chair.

"I wouldn't recommend testing my patience, Councillor Marek. I have very little of it for men like you."

When they are outside in the corridor Jack lets himself laugh, pure joy bubbling up in him.

"He tried to help me!" Jack says, grinning up at Pitch. "Jamie tried to help me!"

Pitch frowns slightly. "He wasn't successful."

"I don't care," Jack says, waving a hand dismissively. "I know that he _tried_. Do you know how good it feels to know that at least someone _tried_? Now I know that at least one person cares about me," Jack says, half a sob, and Pitch touches his cheek.

"Not just one person."

Jack laughs softly, both touched and amused by Pitch's unexpected sweetness. He kisses him, feeling generous in his joy.

Pitch's hands tighten on Jack's waist. He wants more - so does Jack; delight is very much a turn on. He opens his mouth and Pitch pulls him in closer, sliding his tongue into his mouth, tasting him. Jack moans, wrapping his arms around Pitch, kissing back until he's half-hard and breathless.

Pitch is the one who pulls back and it occurs to Jack that they are standing in the middle of the corridor in the city hall, two guards steadfastly not watching as they kiss. He laughs and rests his head against Pitch's chest, feeling a little lightheaded.

Everything is better now that he knows that Jamie tried to help. It would have been nice to see him, to be sure, but maybe that can happen later, once the peace is secured. They stand there for a long moment, Pitch's fingers stroking through Jack's hair and Jack can't stop smiling.

"Do you want to go back to the palace?" Pitch asks. "The rest of the day will be terribly dull."

Jack looks up at Pitch. "Is that okay?"

"Of course. Onyx will look after you. She can take you to see more of the gardens if you like."

"Yeah," Jack says. "I'd like that."

The journey back to the palace is something of a blur, and Jack still can't stop smiling. Pitch accompanies him through the shadows and back to his rooms. He kisses Jack breathless in a brief, burning moment and then takes his leave.

Jack goes onto the balcony and flops down onto his sofa, so full of joy that he feels drunk.

"Jamie tried to help me," he laughs, and the wind dances in his hair as though celebrating with him.

* * *

Jack's sobered up a little by the time there is a knock at his door.

When Onyx enters with a large scroll in her arms, she is not alone. Amber is by her side, wearing black trousers and a white tunic embroidered with blue roses.

"Is it me or is that not what you were wearing this morning?" Jack asks her.

"Don't get her started," Onyx says, laying the scroll on the table. "She said that if you were going to change your clothes, she was too."

"I'm getting changed?"

"If you want to," Amber says, handing him the carefully folded bundle in her arms. "I thought since the king is going to be gone for the day you might as well wear something you're truly comfortable in."

Investigating, Jack sees that they are trousers and a tunic, made of sturdy fabric rather than the sheer material the robes are made from. Grinning at her he races to the bathroom to change. The tunic is blue with a simple angular pattern embroidered around the neckline, and the trousers are fitted and brown, stopping halfway up his calves. It's more like what he used to wear, so when he's done his reflection is more familiar than it has been for weeks; but strangely it doesn't quite look like _him_ anymore.

Putting his hands on his hips, he cocks his head at his reflection but a grin breaks through is contemplation. He's too happy for introspection.

Going back out into the room he sees Amber and Onyx near the table, looking at the scroll that Onyx brought with her.

"So what's this?"

"I thought that since I'd be accompanying you today, I'd let you choose where you wanted to go," Onyx says, standing aside so that he can see. "This is a map of the palace gardens."

Jack steps forward to examine it. The palace is at the bottom of the page and the gardens stretch out over the rest of it. There are three lakes and lots of trees; there is the courtesan's garden, and something called the queen's cottage. Fountains and a labyrinth, rose gardens and orchards. It seems enormous.

"How big _is_ this place?"

"From what we know of Lunanoff, we believe that the palace grounds are approximately twice the size of the city," Onyx says and Jack gapes at her.

Twice the size of Lunanoff. Twice the size of the whole world that Jack grew up in. He stares down at the map, unable to believe it.

"That's the court where we have our solstice and equinox celebrations," Amber says, pointing at a square near the palace. "I've made the most beautiful robe for you for the autumn equinox," she adds, sighing happily.

"W-when is that?" Jack asks, his mind still reeling.

"Next week," she says, clapping her hands. "You're going to look gorgeous, Jack."

"It's supposed to be a harvest celebration, not a fashion show," Onyx mutters, but Amber rolls her eyes.

"All the world is a fashion show, Onyx. What you wear is how you present yourself – it tells people a lot about you. And besides – don't go pretending that the equinox is anything but an excuse to drink copious amounts of cider. I remember what you were like last year."

"_Amber_," Onyx says, aghast, but Jack laughs.

"I've never had cider. I'd like to try it," he says. "I've never been to an autumn festival for that matter. We don't get seasons on the moon so there's not much point in celebrating them. It sounds like fun."

"It is fun," Amber assures him. "And you'll be able to have as much cider as you like."

Onyx opens her mouth to argue but sighs instead, shaking her head. "There's no point in asking you to be serious, is there?"

"No," Amber says, touching the back of Onyx's neck lightly before stepping away to fold Jack's discarded robe. Jack looks from one woman to the other, wondering if there is more to these two than he thought. If so, he supposes Amber won't be sharing any tales from Onyx's army days. More's the pity. Biting down on a grin, he turns back to the scroll.

There's a small wood near the palace, and he points at it on the map. "Here. I want to go here."

* * *

Standing on the grass, Jack looks up, and up.

From the top of the tree you must be able to see all the world.

Jack puts his hand on the bark, feeling the roughness of it. A real tree, alive and huge and thriving. He grins at it in wonder and then steps back. One large branch is within reach, and he takes hold of it, pulling himself up.

"Jack," Onyx says, sounding exasperated. "If you get hurt Pitch will kill me. Come down."

"You come up."

Onyx opens her mouth as if to argue but then she pulls herself up onto the branch by Jack's side in one smooth movement.

"I'm guessing you've done this before," Jack says and she laughs. It's low and muted but Jack can see the excitement in her smile.

"Not for a long time. When we were children Pitch and I would climb the trees here every summer, stay up there for hours until the sun set."

"Pitch," Jack says, and he can't keep the belief out of his voice. "Pitch, climbing trees."

"He was young once," she says, and then pulls herself easily onto the next branch. Looking down at him she moves her hand in a complicated motion and the shadows wrap around Jack's waist and thighs.

"What–"

"A harness," Onyx says. "I'm not risking you falling."

Jack bites back on his protests and nods. It will only make her more obstinate and besides, she's probably right. He's used to climbing buildings but this is a bit different. More flexible for one thing, he thinks as he pulls himself up beside Onyx, feeling the branch bend slightly under his weight.

"From the top of these trees you'll be able to see all the gardens," Onyx says. "Beyond, too. If it's clear enough we might even be able to see Iscadin."

They climb together, Onyx advising occasionally where the branches are thinner or the going trickier. As they get higher, the world gets smaller beneath them and Jack grins as he remembers what freedom tastes like.

In some places the branches grow in tight clumps. It makes the climbing easier but there's no way to see out; it's like a cage of green, the wind's laughter shaking the leaves like it's a game.

Onyx pushes out through the canopy and when Jack follows her he forgets how to breathe.

So used to the small world of Lunanoff, he had subconsciously come to think of the forest that he can see from his balcony as everything there is, the end of the world, just as the dome marks the end of the world of Lunanoff. But the forests stretch further than he could ever dream, a living green ocean to contrast with the seas of dust and rock on the moon.

On the other side are sights more incredible still. The gardens stretch out for miles; the lake he visited with Pitch and others too, further in the distance. He can see his garden from here, look down into the tiny-looking square of walls. There are more gardens, flowers and trees, mazes, and farms, too. Beyond is a road like a grey thread through green cotton, leading to a towering and hazy group of buildings on the horizon. Even from here Jack can tell that it is tens of times bigger than Lunanoff.

His head starts to swim and he sits down on the branch, hands curling around it to steady himself. He doesn't look away though, he can't.

"Are you alright?"

He nods minutely. "It's so incredible. All of this- I've been caged in a space smaller than these gardens all of my life. I never knew that the world was so _big_." He grins at her and stands, walking along the branch.

"Jack-"

"I've got this harness," he says. "It'll protect me, right? Besides, I spent the last eight years running across rooftops at home and I only fell a couple of times."

"That really isn't a comfort."

Jack smiles and takes a few more steps until he feels the branch begin to bend dangerously under his weight. Closing his eyes, he feels the wind spiral around him, stronger than on the ground but still playful.

"If my magic wasn't bound, the wind would carry me," he says, suddenly sure.

"Did you ever try that, in Lunanoff? Or has your magic always been bound?"

Jack feels hurt like a tickle in the back of his throat but he opens his eyes, looking out at the city. Beyond, he sees a sparkle that must be the river. Jamie would love this, he thinks, and smiles. When he is in this incredible world, what does it matter what happened in the past? "My magic's been bound since I was eight," he says. "I used to try and get the bracelet off, so they changed it to one that was sealed by magic, like the collar."

"Jethryn – the mage who removed the bracelet – he's been examining it," Onyx says, " It's infused with complex magics-"

"Can we not talk about that?" Jack asks, turning to look at her. "Please?"

"Alright," she says softly. "I'm sorry. I just – I don't understand why they would force such binding on you rather than teach you how to control it."

He goes back to her side and sits with a shrug. "I don't know. I don't know why they did a lot of things." Then he smiles. "But I _do_ know that my friend tried to help me."

"Pitch told me. I'm glad it's making you feel better."

"It is. It really is." Jack swings his legs. "Do you think Pitch will let Jamie come here, to Umbra? He'd love to see this."

"Perhaps. You do have Pitch wrapped around your little finger," she says with a soft smile. "Once peace is secure, you'll have to ask him."

"If I stay," Jack says softly.

"Do you think you will stay?" Onyx asks, doing a bad job of pretending to be blasé.

"I don't know," Jack says. "I'm trying not to think about it. Whenever I do I just get stuck on this thought that I'll have to go back to Lunanoff if I decide not to stay, and suddenly it doesn't feel like I have much of a choice at all."

"You don't have to go back to Lunanoff," Onyx says. "You could stay in Umbra."

"And what would I do?" Jack asks. "Go to the city? I don't know a trade or any other way to make a living."

Onyx pauses, looking at him with an open mouth, and then she smiles. "I forget sometimes, how little you know about Umbra. You know that Selena and Umbra have never had the smoothest of relationships?"

"Sure," Jack says, shrugging.

"Even so, we've always been jealous of the mages of Selena. The royal ice mages most of all. Add to that the mystery of a city on the moon – people would pay just to _look_ at you, Jack. If you stayed in Umbra you wouldn't be wanting for money."

"If I want someone to stare at me, I might as well stay here and have Pitch look at me. At least I know that Pitch values me more than an animal in a zoo; he wants to do more than just gawk at me."

Onyx grins at him. "Are we talking about that 'exploration' again?"

Jack laughs and nods. It never crossed his mind that he might be of interest to the people of Umbra on his own merits. Even though Jack should have been something special in Lunanoff as an ice mage, looking like King Jokul reborn, his father had put paid to any affection the people might have had for him. Now, though, he is beyond his father's grasp.

There is irony in the thought of making a living from being looked at when all his life he's been ignored, and gives a crooked, bitter smile. It might not be something he would truly want, but gods know it would be preferable to going back to Lunanoff.

He's not sure, though, that it would be preferable to his life here.

He thinks of Pitch's anger, driven by protectiveness, and bites his lip. He's not used to having someone give enough of a damn about him to get angry on his behalf. It's nice to be so cared for.

Still – is it nice enough that he is willing to give up his freedom? Then again, he seems to have more freedom here than he ever did in Lunanoff. Even if he has to be accompanied by Pitch everywhere, he doesn't think he'd mind that so very much. He's getting to realise just how easy it is to get Pitch to do what he wants.

"Are you overthinking things again?" Onyx asks, and Jack smiles at her.

"Probably."

"I think I know just the thing to take your mind off it," Onyx says. "There's more to the gardens than was on the map. There's a cave system nearby. Would you like to see?"

"I'd love to!" Jack says, and smiles at her, thinking that there is more reason to stay in the palace than just Pitch.

_Friends_, he thinks, and the word almost like something from a foreign language.

* * *

Jack sits out on his balcony with wine and lemon cakes, all that is left of his dinner. The sun set hours ago and the moon is high in the sky, but Jack doesn't even mind that tonight.

Raising his cup of wine in a toast, he says, "Thanks, Jamie," and drinks deep.

It's been a good day. First finding out about Jamie and the spending the day with Onyx, climbing trees and exploring caves. The only thing missing is Pitch. Jack would very much like to feel his mouth on him again but it looks like he's going to be disappointed.

With a sigh he finishes his wine and settles back on the cushions. He tries to concentrate on reading. It's useless though. It keeps getting interrupted by yawns and indignant thoughts about Pitch not coming to see him.

Jack gives a snort at his own thoughts. Within the space of two weeks he's gone from knowing nothing about Pitch and being terrified of him, to getting petulant when he doesn't get a kiss goodnight.

He tries to turn his attention back to the book, and reads a paragraph written by a long-ago courtesan about their thoughts on the collar, but he's quickly distracted by longing for Pitch. The wind teases his hair as if sensing his wish for companionship.

Putting the book aside, Jack pulls his knees into his chest and thinks on yesterday, on what Pitch was saying before Onyx interrupted them; about what Pitch sees when he looks at Jack. He smiles at the memory. Before, he thought Pitch was vastly exaggerating, but now that he knows that Jamie tried to help him – maybe there was something to it. Maybe there is more to him than he sees in his reflection.

His thoughts meander along those lines until he finds himself yawning again. He chuckles; if he's about to fall asleep then he had better go inside. Pitch has warned him about falling asleep on the balcony after all, and he should open his jar of dreamsand.

Picking up his book he turns to go inside and get ready for bed, but not before one last smile up at the moon.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind comments and favs! I've decided that I'm going to publish this story every Friday evening, so that my readers know when to expect updates, so either check back on Fridays or make sure to follow the story to make sure you don't miss out.


	7. Chapter 7

The last few days have had skies full of clouds.

Amber mentioned that grey days make her mood plummet, but Jack likes them. Watching the clouds pass across the sky, changing shapes and colour. He's endlessly fascinated by the way that they react with the wind, are moulded by it. He feels a tug deep within him, the part of him that responds to the wind can sense the change in the weather; it feels like a feather being stroked over his skin.

Maybe the strength of his response is due to him never having seen such cloudy days before, because it seems to be affecting Pitch's mood negatively as well. For the past few days he's been quiet and slow to smile. Lost in heavy thoughts with his shoulders bowed under the weight of them. At first Jack was worried that it was something that he had done or said, but Pitch's embraces and kisses have been as full of affection as ever. Jack's sure that the cause for this mood must be more than just overcast days, but he doesn't know how to ask without being intrusive. The last thing he wants to do is upset Pitch further.

They're walking in a stretch of woodland. Pitch is leading Jack by the leash, but his hands are unbound. There is a stone path weaving between the trees, a safe space for a barefoot courtesan to walk, and Jack likes the way the different stones feel under his feet: rounded or flat, smooth or a little rough. There is a fresh, green scent in the air. Perhaps it would be prettier with the sunlight streaming through the leaves, but Jack likes it like this, cool and quiet. The only sounds are their footsteps, the wind amidst the leaves, the chirping melodies of birdsong.

Jack pauses when they pass over a bridge and looks down into the stream below. It trickles musically, laughing over the pebbles of the streambed. A smile curves his lips as a quiet joy grows in him. Being surrounded by nature still fills Jack with contentment. No matter how often he sees it, he doubts he could ever get tired of seeing wonderful things like this.

And there's so much more to see. If he stays…

He bites his lip and pushes the thought aside; it's too weighty for such a lovely day. He turns to smile at Pitch instead but finds that Pitch's expression is full of his own heavy thoughts. The look in his eyes reminds Jack of the way his siblings look near the anniversary of their mother's death; that same choking sadness. It triggers the same feelings of helpless guilt that always fills Jack during that time. His heartbeat is heavy in his throat, but he sucks in a lungful of air and with great effort he lets go of the remembered guilt. This is not the same thing. Whatever is upsetting Pitch is not his fault. Instead of dwelling on himself; he needs to try and help, no matter how awkward he feels.

"Is- is everything okay?"

Pitch blinks down at him and then gives him a small smile, as forced as anything Jack himself has offered. "Nothing you need concern yourself with, Jack."

"But I _am_ concerned," Jack says, turning to face him. "I'm worried about you."

Pitch's eyes widen, and his smile grows more sincere. He pulls Jack into his arms, kissing his forehead. "Thank you," he says, and Jack can feel the gratitude in his embrace. Jack wishes he knew what was wrong. Not that he would know what to do, but maybe he'd know what _not_ to do. For now all he can do is return the embrace, holding Pitch tightly, and slowly he feels the tension trickle from Pitch's body.

When they move on, Pitch seems a little lighter of heart.

"I'm going to be busy tomorrow," Pitch says, sliding an arm around Jack's waist while holding the leash: his preferred way of walking. "So perhaps you'd like a little freedom? I'll leave your room unlocked and you can explore the other rooms on your corridor."

"Really?" Jack's eyes widen at the thought of being able to explore more of the palace, and about being trusted with more freedom, too

"Those rooms are usually the province of the courtesan in any case," Pitch says. "So it's only fair."

With a grin, Jack rises onto his tiptoes and kisses Pitch. Soft at first, it deepens when Pitch puts a restraining arm around Jack's waist, hand splaying on his lower back to tug him in closer. With a soft noise something like a whimper, Jack opens his mouth for him, letting Pitch slide his tongue over Jack's teeth and dip into his mouth, stroking against his tongue.

Pitch pulls back and his time his smile is hungry as well as genuine. "The things you do to me, Jack," is all he says, and Jack grins back, pleased to have distracted Pitch from whatever troubles are haunting him.

They continue their walk hand-in-hand and Jack smiles all the way.

* * *

Jack spends the next morning revelling in his new found freedom.

Each of the rooms is decorated simply, the usual geometric patterns and dark colour schemes as is the Umbran style. There are a few exceptions, though; a colourful cushion or a patterned rug. Jack wonders if they belonged to past courtesans, and what stories lie behind them.

One room is filled with a number of comfortable sofas – Jack guesses for gatherings. Remembering that Pitch said that these rooms were used by courtesans, he wonders if he could invite people here and have a gathering of his own. Not that he knows many people to invite. Amber and Onyx, perhaps – he could offer them wine and see if he can wrangle some stories from Amber; he's sure she has plenty to tell. Or perhaps Monty – he's been bringing Jack new books every week, and his nervous enthusiasm is still sweet.

Moving on, Jack finds a room with a half-circle of chairs facing a small stage. The next has games –cards and dice, and a chequered board with an army of black and gold pieces facing one another, tiny swords and spears in their hands. He picks up one of the pieces, feeling the weight and the texture of it. He wonders how the game is played.

And then he comes to a music room. There is a piano against the wall and he smiles widely. This is something he knows. Sitting at the bench he lets his fingers dance over the keys, finding the familiar notes of one of his favourite songs.

As he does, the music transports him to the last time he played. Tooth sang along until North interrupted, turning the playful song boisterous until all of them were laughing. Was that really only a few months ago?

Betrayal blooms in his chest like an ugly flower, and he changes the song to Jamie's favourite, an epic of dragons and undines and fearless heroes. He smiles as he sings for his friend, even if he can't hear it. One day he'll play this for Jamie, Jack thinks. Here in this room, maybe, and Jamie will join his voice to Jack's. There aren't many parts of his old life that he misses, but he truly does miss Jamie. Still Jack smiles; Jamie cares for him, tried to save him, and Jack will always smile when he thinks of him.

After the last notes of the song fade, Jack stands and goes to the window. From here he can see the courtesan's garden and that conjures a smile too. The first time he went, he had no idea that things would turn out the way they did. It was unplanned, it just felt _right_, felt good to have Pitch's hands on him.

Something's different now though; something's shifted in Jack. It still feels good but there's more there. At some point things changed from wanting Pitch's touch as a distraction, to just wanting Pitch. The dry humour and crooked smiles, the affection he lavishes on Jack – Jack loves all of it. He likes spending time with Pitch, not just when it involves orgasms. Although he definitely likes that, Jack thinks, and laughs lightly. Pitch seems so good at everything, but Jack wants to try things too. Perhaps try pleasing Pitch with his mouth. If nothing else, it might help take Pitch's mind off whatever is troubling him.

If he wants to do that though, he'll have to do it soon. Once more his thoughts drift to the end of the promise month and his looming choice: to stay or not to stay. A life of pleasure - a life of being cared for and looked after; but of course there is the matter of freedom. He could do as Onyx said, go to the city and make a living, but that has restrictions of its own. And then there is the thing Jack doesn't like to think about - if he decides not to stay, Umbra and Lunanoff will be at war because of his choice.

He closes his eyes and curses his father for forcing this on him, then sighs. He's not going to spend his first day of freedom fretting about his father.

There is one last door at the end of the corridor, and Jack reaches for the handle - to find the door locked.

Jack raises his eyebrow at the door. This is the first one that's been locked, and that alone makes it interesting.

Nothing that Pitch said precluded locked doors. Just to stay on this corridor, and this door is definitely on this corridor.

Jack puts his hands on his hips, considering. He shouldn't – but then he's never been one for self-restraint. Sliding one of the silver clips from his hair, he breathes an apology to Amber and bends it into a pick. Crouching and shifting his robe out of the way, he slides the pick into the lock and frowns in concentration as he works. It takes a little time, but when the lock clicks open, Jack smiles at his success.

"Still got it," he says with a chuckle and pushes the door open.

It's a large, airy room, full of light pouring in through wide windows. Cabinets made of dark wood inlaid with gold line the walls. An easel stands before the windows, there are a few chairs – nothing to indicate why the door was locked. There's another door in the adjacent wall, but Jack decides to finish exploring this room before moving on. He gazes out of the window then goes to examine the cabinets.

The most interesting thing he finds is a collection of paints and brushes, and a blank canvas stretched over a wooden frame. Some past courtesan must have used this as an art room. Lifting the canvas, Jack looks at it, and is filled with the desire to fill in the blankness. Sitting back on his heels, he considers for a moment before taking it over to the easel.

Slowly he acquaints himself with the paints. They're similar to ones he's used in Lunanoff, and as he paints he's surrounded by the greasy scent of colours. He paints the view from the window, building it up in layers, though he doesn't care if it's accurate; it's more important to him that it _feels_ right. Greens and browns and greys are true to life, but he adds smudges of colour that aren't there: moody blues and bruised purples, golds and pinks and reds.

Standing back to examine his work, he feels satisfaction warm him like he's basking in sunlight. It's rare that he paints – he has some in his chambers in the palace in Lunanoff, but he prefers to avoid the palace and doesn't spend as much time as he'd like in the company of paint and canvas.

Leaving the painting to dry, Jack wipes his hands on his trews. With a wince he offers another apology to Amber.

Turning his attention to the other door, Jack cocks his head. Clearly it doesn't lead to one of the rooms off his corridor – it leads to somewhere he isn't supposed to go.

He is able to stop himself, but only for a moment.

This door is locked too, but that is easily taken care of, and he steps through into a room full of shadows. Thick curtains are drawn tightly save for one at the far end, and Jack squints into the darkness. He steps forward - and his wrist is seized, caught in an iron grip.

Crying out, heart hammering in his chest, Jack tries to free his hand but the grip is painfully tight.

"Get off me!"

The grip slackens so that it's no longer painful, but he can't free his wrist.

"Jack? What are you doing here?"

"_Pitch_?"

"I said that you could go anywhere off your corridor," Pitch says and there's a note of hurt in his voice. Of betrayal.

Guilt rushes through him. Pitch gave him freedom and Jack abused his trust. But all he did was go into a room. What's so bad about that?

Anger flares up in response to the guilt, trying to overcome it and consume it. "I was curious, alright? I'm curious, that's a part of who I am. You keep saying you want to know the real me - well, this is me. And if you don't like it-" Jack cuts himself off. His eyes are burning with the threat of tears. "If you don't like it then-"

_Maybe you don't really want me_ is what he wants to say but he can't - if he says it, maybe Pitch will realise it's true. Maybe he'll decide he doesn't want Jack after all. He hadn't realised how much Pitch's approval - his affection - meant to him, but the thought of losing it terrifies him.

He can barely see Pitch in the darkness, only the shine of his eyes, narrowed as he gazes down at Jack. And then they close, and Jack hears him take a shaky breath.

The hand around his wrist loosens. "I'm sorry, Jack," Pitch says, lifting Jack's wrist so that he can kiss the back of his hand. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," Jack murmurs. "You just scared me."

Pitch is silent for long, long moments and then he sighs. "Oh, Jack," is all he says, and then pulls him into an embrace. Jack is stiff in his arms for a moment, but then he relaxes against Pitch's body, listening to his heartbeat. Feeling how tense Pitch is, how obviously upset, Jack starts to feel foolish about his reaction.

"Tell me what's wrong," Jack whispers. "Let me help you."

"You can't," Pitch says, and there's a broken note in his voice that makes Jack's heart ache. He holds Pitch tighter, never wanting to hear him sound like that again.

Eventually Pitch pulls away and he puts his hands either side of Jack's neck, kissing the top of his head, before stepping back.

"I thought you were busy today," Jack says, rubbing his eyes to remove any trace of unshed tears.

There's a long pause and then a sigh. "There's something I need to tell you. Something you should know before you decide whether to stay with me." The room starts to lighten. Jack realises that it wasn't that the curtains were drawn; Pitch had been keeping the room dark with his magic save for that one bright spot at the end of the room.

As the light returns it reveals the most extravagant room that Jack's seen in Umbra. It reminds him a little of the temple from that first day – coloured light streams in through stained glass, and heavy red curtains fall to the floor like velvet waterfalls.

Most intriguing though are the portraits, the first he's seen in Umbra. Dozens of them, covering the wall facing the windows. Tall, slender men and women look out from golden frames, almost all grey-skinned.

"It didn't occur to me that you wouldn't understand," Pitch says with a sigh.

"Wouldn't understand what?"

"In Umbra – things are very different than they are in Lunanoff. Portraiture is very special – almost sacred. Each family has their own gallery, filled with paintings of their ancestors and their loved ones. It's a very private space. To enter another family's gallery, you must have explicit permission."

Jack's eyes widen. No wonder Pitch was so incensed at Jack's intrusion. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologise. When I say family, that means courtesans too." He runs his fingers through Jack's hair, but his hand quickly drops away, as does the faint smile. "Come," he says, taking Jack's hand and leading him down the gallery.

They walk slowly, so that Jack has time to examine the art.

"But what about the paintings in my books?"

"Books have a sacredness of their own," Pitch says. "And those paintings are always slightly altered from reality. A different hair colour, or some other distinguishing feature is changed. Family galleries are the only place that true likenesses are seen."

"So- there aren't pictures of you anywhere else?" It seems so odd to Jack, who is used to seeing paintings everywhere. Of his father especially. All around Lunanoff, in all the public buildings, his father's pale eyes looked out at Jack with disdain wherever he went.

"There are; people need to know what their king looks like," Pitch says, smiling faintly. "But they're not a true representation."

"What's different?"

Pitch's smile widens slightly. "I look handsome in the pictures."

"You look alright to me," Jack says, and then blushes at yet another example of his inability to say the right thing. "I mean-"

"It's alright, Jack. And thank you."

As they continue to walk down the gallery, Jack sees hints of Pitch in some of the kings and queens; the high cheeks, the pointed chin. He's startled to see golden collars in the pictures; there are courtesans in this sacred gallery. One has markings like flowers curving around her arms, a soft smile on her face as she kneels at the feet of her king, a man with the ghost of Pitch around his eyes. Another courtesan is in his own portrait, his smile as bright as his colourful markings. They look so happy, Jack thinks, and wistfulness washes over him.

They come to a stop before a family portrait and Jack is startled to see that this does not just look like Pitch; it is him. He wears a crown of dark metal and is richly dressed, but Jack barely notices. All of his attention is on the others in the painting: the highborn woman by his side with delicate features and silky waves of black hair; the little girl who stands at the front who shares both of their features.

Jack's head swims as he stares up, open mouthed.

_Pitch has a family_, Jack thinks, feeling like all the breath has been squeezed out of his body. _He loves someone else._

He looks up with a cry on his lips but Pitch's expression makes the sense of betrayal crash to the ground, smashing into pieces. Jack recognises that expression; he's seen it too often in the palace on Lunanoff. It is grief, choking and consuming.

Jack looks back at the portrait. It's clearly from many years ago; Pitch looks much younger. There is another portrait of him beside this one, and there he is alone. Jack thinks of all the time that Pitch spends with him; there would be little time spare to spend with a family.

"Pitch...?"

"My wife," he whispers. "My daughter. I-" Blinking hard, he closes his eyes. He breathes deep and it is a long moment before his eyes open again. Jack's mouth opens but he doesn't know what to say. Something happened to this woman and girl, that is clear. Something terrible. What can he possibly say that will bring Pitch comfort?

But perhaps words are not what is needed here. When Jack longs for comfort, it's not words he aches for, but touch. He puts his arms around Pitch's waist, gingerly at first; just because this is what he would want doesn't mean Pitch feels the same. His fears are quickly assuaged when Pitch's arms go around him, tight enough to hurt. His back shakes under Jack's hands. His own heart aches at Pitch's hurt, and Jack holds him tighter.

Slowly Pitch stops shaking and eventually he pulls back. Loss is etched on every feature; it's painful to see. Jack reaches up and strokes Pitch's cheek, summoning the tiniest of smiles. Pitch lets out a shaky breath and leads Jack over to a sofa against the opposite wall, facing the family portrait.

Jack still doesn't know what to say so he says nothing. He wishes he was better at this; wishes he knew what to do. He holds Pitch's hand and listens, hoping that it's enough.

"Five years ago, they were travelling east - to Karine's parents," Pitch says, very quietly, his voice off-key. "I should have been with them. I was in Iscadin for a meeting but- If Karine had just _waited_-" He voice breaks and Jack squeezes his hand.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me."

"No, I do. You should know." Pitch lifts his head and looks up at the painting with a haunted look. "All we ever found of their carriage was a single wheel. I never let it be officially declared that they- I know they must be, but-" he shakes his head. "Seraphina was only seven," he whispers and bows his head, breath hitching. He pulls Jack into his arms and buries his face in Jack's hair.

Jack holds him tightly, feeling clumsy in his comfort. He's been faced with grief every year leading up the anniversary of his mother's death. He's never known what to do. Never known how to stop his brothers and sister from looking so lost. He always feels so helpless, so useless, and he feels the same now. And as for how _he_ feels about the knowledge that Pitch was married, had a daughter – he can't even begin to process it. Right now, all of his concentration is on Pitch.

Pitch's back shakes under his hands and tears prick at Jack's own eyes at the strength of Pitch's pain. All he can do is hold him, but in time Pitch stops shaking. His breathing evens out and he pulls back from Jack's embrace to look up at the painting.

He starts to talk softly, shares tales of this woman and this girl. How his marriage with Karine was arranged and he never thought he would love her. Their promise month was full of snark and bickering, but when Pitch grew ill with a fever, Karine was there when he woke, to tell him he was an idiot for riding in the rain. She kissed him, and Pitch realised that he loved her.

She never treated him like a king but as her equal. For all her delicate looks, her soul was full of spice and sparks. She challenged Pitch and she loved him, and that is all he wanted in all the world. At least until Seraphina was born; that was the moment when he knew that true joy existed.

Pitch pauses in telling a tale of Seraphina's birthday and he gives a wan smile. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you don't want to hear this."

"Of course I do. It's nice to know more about you. And I think it's making you feel better."

"It is. I miss them, Jack," he says, and the words seem to stick in his throat. "I miss them so much." He pauses for a long moment, and then he manages a smile. "I've always spent today alone – I never knew that being with someone could help. Or perhaps it's just being with you."

Jack feels a blush spill over his cheeks and he grins weakly. "Glad I could be of help."

They sit there and Pitch tells Jack more about his family. As the day draws on, he seems to relax – starts to enjoy telling the tales. The grief is still there but there are notes of sweetness and joy as well. He looks at Jack more, too – not just talking but sharing himself with Jack. It makes Jack's heart ache a little, that he's so willing to share even in this moment of loss, while Jack is still keeping him at arm's length.

After a story about a family trip to the coast that has Jack aching to see the ocean, Pitch gives him a crooked smile. "Your first day of freedom and you're stuck here listening to my rambling."

"No," Jack says, shaking his head. "I like learning more about you. It's like – before I came here, all I knew about you were stories about the Nightmare King. One-sided. Two-dimensional. And then I came here and met you. You were nothing like the stories but I was still thinking of you in that same way. Flat. No definition, no colour." Jack stops abruptly, suddenly aware of how foolish he sounds.

Pitch lifts a hand and looks at his grey fingers. "I don't have a lot of colour, Jack."

Jack laughs and then bites his lip; it seems inappropriate to laugh here, today, but Pitch doesn't seem to mind. He slides his arm over Jack's shoulder and shifts so that they are pressed closer together, knee to hip. Suddenly he wants Pitch to kiss him breathless and that _is_ inappropriate.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that we should learn more about each other." Jack takes a deep breath. "Before the promise month is up, I mean. I keep trying not to think about it, but it's nearly over. I don't want to say yes only for it to turn out that we hate each other."

"I couldn't hate you," Pitch says quietly, and Jack looks up to see such intensity in his eyes that he shivers.

"Yeah, well – you don't know me so well. I'm just saying – we should talk more. Don't get me wrong," he says quickly. "I like the other stuff too. I like it a lot. But we should talk, too."

"This is a change of tune from _please make me feel so good that I can't think anymore_," Pitch says, but there's a smile in his eyes.

"I'm just trying to be _mature_," Jack huffs.

"Very mature," Pitch snorts. "In fact, you sound like Onyx."

"Well, you know - I think Onyx is pretty smart, actually," Jack says, thinking of the things that she's said that have made him feel so much better. "No, not just smart - she's wise."

"She is," Pitch says softly. "I'm lucky to have her."

"We both are."

There's a long pause. Pitch looks back up at the portrait, a small smile settling over his lips, even as his eyes are sad. He seems lost his memories, and Jack watches, happy to sit in silence for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

"It's like what you were saying the other day - about getting to know the shape of the real me? Well, I think I'm getting to know the shape of the real you."

Pitch looks at him. "And what do you think of the real me?"

"I- I like you." Jack blushes and looks away. "I'm sorry. I'm so bad at this-"

But Pitch pulls him into his arms, holds him right, and Jack hugs back, not to offer comfort this time but to offer himself, just a little, and Pitch gladly takes what he's being given.

They stay in the gallery for a long time, until the shadows grow long. Pitch suggests they return to Jack's rooms and share dinner.

As they go through the next room, Pitch sees the painting that Jack was working on and goes over to it.

"I was just messing around," Jack says, blushing and hoping that he hasn't offended him, since art is so revered here.

"Not at all." Pitch stands with his hands behind his back and gazes at the painting as though it's something worthy of consideration rather than Jack's amateurish scratches. "This is wonderful. You like to paint?"

"Yes. It - takes my mind off things." Jack blushes, remembering what he's been doing lately to distract himself.

"Then you can come here whenever you want," Pitch says. "I'll arrange for more paint and canvases to be brought up. I'll be a little busy with politics for the next few days in any case," he adds, _politics_ sounding like a dirty word in his mouth.

"Are you meeting with Councillor Marek again?"

A smile twitches at the edge of Pitch's mouth as they leave the room and head towards Jack's rooms. Pitch tells one of the guards to arrange for dinner to be brought up, and they settle on Jack's balcony.

"Not Marek, no. I rather think I scared him off. No, it's some troubles we've been having with the Sinaran Empire."

Jack blinks. "What?"

Pitch's smile grows wide. "Come now, Jack, I know you said you don't pay much attention in your lessons but even you must have heard of the empire."

"Of course I've heard of the empire. I just thought it ended after the Great War. All the countries that were part of it are independent now, right? Tanack, Fintan, Kande- see, I _do_ pay attention."

Pitch chuckles. "Very good. Though there are a few neighbouring countries still classed as part of the empire. The land of Sinar itself is still very much tainted, but they have a powerful army - and a powerful ambition. When they cause trouble I have to take note."

Jack considers how little he knows about the planet and its politics. He's never heard so much as a whisper about the empire, though. He wonders if North even knows. "So, you're meeting with them?"

"No. They refuse to meet with any other country on equal terms. I'm meeting with the wardens of the north and the east-" He cuts himself off again and gives Jack a slanted smile. "Again, I'm forgetting how little you know about Umbran-"

"The wardens of the north and east are great lords that the king of Umbra appoints to guard the country's borders," Jack interrupts, and grins. "I've been reading."

"_Very_ impressive. Though I wouldn't use the word _lords_ around Lady Ravus. She's the warden of the east and not someone you want to upset."

"Am I going to meet her?"

"She'll be at the autumn equinox celebrations," Pitch says. "We'll all need the cider to wash away the taste of politics."

Jack finds himself looking forward to the equinox, and not just for the cider.

* * *

The night is full of stars, like diamond dust suspended in shadows.

Jack is lying on his back with his head in Pitch's lap. They're on his balcony and Pitch's fingers stroke gently through Jack's hair. It soothes him and he sighs, smiling up at Pitch. In response he gets a small, wintry smile and Jack pushes up to kiss him.

"You okay?"

"I'm better than I have been for years. Because of you."

Jack blushes and leans his forehead against Pitch's. "I didn't do anything."

"You did everything."

Pitch kisses him, warm and deep, slow and intense.

By the time Pitch pulls away Jack is trembling, a deep emotional thing that seems to emanate from deep within. He looks into Pitch's eyes, silvery in the darkness, and feels a tug in his chest. Sighing he wraps his arms around Pitch and leans his head against Pitch's neck. He's afraid of this feeling; of the intensity of it, like it could consume him entirely. Normally he ignores feelings that he doesn't understand - spending too much time thinking about them only reveals them to be negative: grief or guilt or loneliness.

But this - this feels different. It feels - sweet. Vast waves of sweetness that he could drown in.

Pitch's arms tighten around his waist and he kisses Jack's temple. It makes Jack's heart ache. After all Pitch has been through - after everything he's lost - he is still willing to give Jack such affection. Even though he knows Jack might leave after the promise month. It's brave, Jack thinks. He wonders if he can find such courage; courage enough to untangle these feelings he has for Pitch.

He has eight days left to find it.


	8. Chapter 8

The canvas is a blur of colours.

It's not supposed to be anything real; just swirls of paint, thick and bright. Jack's mind is choked by thoughts and feelings, too much to be able to concentrate on anything. The end of the promise month is only four days away now and Jack's ability to not think about things is being taxed to its limit.

_What if I do_ and _what if I don't_ dance around his head until it starts to ache. He's not made for big decisions. He's not made for painting either, not really. He's supposed to be out there, running free and having fun, doing whatever he wants. There's so much more to do here in Umbra than he's ever done before - exploring forests, swimming in lakes, climbing mountains. And he can do all of that and more - if he's willing for worlds to be at war because of him.

And if he's willing to never see Pitch again.

Jack's under no delusions - if he says no at the end of the promise month, Pitch will not take the rejection well. He will keep his word and let Jack go, he's fairly sure of that; but he will never forgive him. The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

If he does stay, maybe Pitch will give him more freedom. Let him roam more of the palace - maybe even give him freedom of the gardens. He can run and leap and climb; the gardens are huge enough that it would take him months to explore, years maybe.

Feeling restless, Jack moves away from the canvas, leaps onto one of the cabinets that line the art room and walks along it, feeling the wooden surface smooth under his bare feet.

Eyeing the rest of the room, he grins and starts to run. Jumping over the gap in the cabinets, running over the others, a couple of steps along the wall when he runs out of surface, and pushing onto the back of one of the chairs. Hopping from chair back to chair back, he's back where he began too soon. It's a big room but not nearly big enough.

Jack jumps back down to the floor and sigh. Being given the freedom of these rooms has only whetted his appetite. He feels like a caged bird. Jack frowns, picking up his brush and making a few half-hearted swipes, playing at fencing; but it's no fun without an opponent, without an audience, and Jack sinks into a chair with a sigh, dropping his head into his hands.

Or maybe - maybe this cabin fever is because of Karine and Seraphina. Maybe he just wants to distract himself from thinking about them, thinking about how Pitch loves someone else. He tries to tell himself that he should have known - that Pitch is older, of course he must have been married; that's one of the duties of a king. Jack is just a courtesan anyway. It may mean more than it does in Lunanoff, and maybe other courtesans have been loved, but why would Pitch love Jack? No-one else ever has.

He tries to push the pain away but does a poor job of it. All of the affection that Pitch had been lavishing on him has meant something to Jack. He's not even realised it until now, not realised how much he's cherished it. He doesn't doubt that Pitch meant it. That he cares for Jack is obvious, and Jack still feels wonder that someone could care for him like that.

He doesn't mind Pitch loving Seraphina. Having never had a father's love himself, he envies her but he accepts it. What hurts is that Jack will always be behind Karine in Pitch's heart. And that thought is so selfish that Jack hates himself for a moment.

There's a knock at the door and Jack wipes at his eyes, taking a deep breath and winces when it shakes. He stands, expecting it to open. When he doesn't, he takes another deep breath and goes to open it himself. Pitch is waiting, hands behind his back.

He takes one look at Jack and frowns. "Is something the matter?"

Jack closes his eyes, heart hammering at the touch, and is suddenly overcome by the urge to cry. stepping forward, he hides his face against Pitch's chest.

"Jack," Pitch says softly, and when his arms go around Jack tightly, holding him safe, Jack's worries start to fade. Pitch wants him here, at least. "What's wrong?"

Jack shakes his head, and Pitch takes the hint, holding him in silence. His fingers stroke Jack's hair, and slowly Jack's doubts settle. They're still there, hiding in the corners of his mind, but at least he feels as though he isn't going to cry any more. He takes another moment to enjoy being held like this, and finds himself smiling.

He moves back and gives Pitch a weak smile. "I'm okay. I've just got a lot on my mind."

"I suppose that's true enough," he says, and then smiles. "What have you been doing to yourself?"

"Huh?"

Pitch strokes a finger gently across Jack's cheek, and it comes away blue. "You're covered in paint."

"Oh!" Jack looks up to see blue and green and purple in his hair, to match the paint smeared over his hands. His eyes widen when he can just make out the same colours smeared over Pitch's tunic. "I'm so sorry-"

"Not to worry. That's one of the many advantages to wearing black," Pitch says, his smile widening. "But you had better bathe before Amber comes up to dress you for the festival."

They return to Jack's chambers and as Pitch starts to run a bath for him, Jack examines his reflection. He quite likes the splashes of colour in his hair. It makes him look different - not just like King Jokul or the moon god, but unique for once.

"Maybe I should keep it for the festival," Jack says and grins at Pitch.

"It's hardly autumnal," Pitch says but it's with a smile and he leans in to kiss Jack. When he pulls back, he has a smear of purple on his cheek.

"Now you're festive, too," Jack says, but he wets a towel so that he can wipe away the paint. Pitch closes his eyes and lets him before taking the towel and wiping clean Jack's face. It's strangely tender, that reciprocation, and they smile at each other.

Pitch opens his mouth as if to say something, but seems to think better of it. Instead he kisses him softly, and touches his cheek.

When he's gone, Jack thinks how often Pitch seems on the verge of saying something lately, only to change his mind.

He wonders what it is.

* * *

When Amber and Onyx arrive, they're already dressed for the festival. Amber is wearing a shimmering yellow-gold dress and Onyx is all in black, trousers and a tailored jacket with black opal buttons. Together they make Jack think of the shortening days, fading sun and growing shadows. Perfect for an autumn equinox.

For the past few days Amber has been talking of Jack's robe with increasing excitement, and when Jack finally sees it, he sees she was justified. It's incredible. Draped over one shoulder, sheer layers of fall colours make it rich and vibrant. It is covered with delicately embroidered golden leaves, dense around the hem and then sparser, as though being blown away by the wind. The finishing touch is a wide coppery belt.

His fingers and toes are bejewelled with rings, and his nails painted gold. Earrings are more elaborate, and Amber tells him to close his eyes so that she can add colour to his face, though it's a little more elegant that the paint smears.

The last time that he was made up like this when he was sent to Umbra, but this feels completely different. Here, he feels completely at ease; he's joking with Amber and Onyx as his eyes are lined and shadowed. He feels relaxed - excited, even. He's been looking forward to the festival since he heard about it - and a little of his excitement is for Pitch to see him like this. Even though Pitch always looks at him appreciatively, Jack never tires of it.

"You look beautiful," Amber breathes, sitting back and clasping her hands. Looking over her shoulder, she grins at Onyx. "Am I or am I not a genius?"

Onyx sighs, putting her hands on her hips and examining Jack with narrowed eyes.

"Fine," Onyx says. "He looks lovely. You did a good job."

"And you have a way with understatement," Amber says. "The king is going to love you."

The word _love_ smashes Jack's good mood on rocks of doubt. "Is he?" The words come out before Jack can stop them, off key and slightly broken. The mask that Jack has been creating, carefully cultivated over the weeks by refusing to think about anything, is starting to crumble. Jack bites his lip, trying to put the mask back into place but his eyes are already full of tears.

"I'm guessing this is about more than the robe," Amber says softly, moving to sit beside him on the chaise longue. She looks at him carefully. "Talk to me, Jack. That's what I'm here for."

"I thought you were here to dress me."

"I'm here for all kinds of things. The king talks to me, you know. Mostly about you these days. He tells me about how strong he thinks you are for overcoming what's happened to you. About how even after everything, you smile and laugh, find wonder in everything. He adores you, Jack."

"I know," Jack says quietly. "And I know it's not even been four weeks yet, so it's not like I would expect to be the love of his life but knowing that I'll _never_ be that-" He stops abruptly.

"Why not?"

"Because- Because that's what the queen is to him."

Amber stares at him for a moment and then touches his knee. "That's what the queen _was_, Jack. I think he knows she's gone, even if he can't bring himself to make it official. Just because you're the courtesan doesn't mean he doesn't love you-"

"But I'll always be second place," Jack whispers, eyes brimming with tears again.

"Why would you think that?" Amber shakes her head, curls bouncing. "If Pitch does love you, I can guarantee you will be first and foremost for him. Hearts heal, Jack. We can love more than one person in our life, no matter how much we've loved - or been hurt - before."

Jack thinks of his father. Of how no-one else would ever come even close to the queen in his father's heart, not even his children, and especially not Jack. "My father-"

"Pitch is nothing like your father," Amber says sharply. "He has his share of problems but he sure as hell would never have done what your father did to you. And I'm guessing that's not the only thing your father did to hurt you. Pitch cares for you _fiercely_ and if anyone ever tried to hurt you- Well, he'd make sure they never did it again."

That was certainly true with Councillor Marek, and Jack doubts that Pitch's protectiveness was an isolated incident. He sniffs and wipes the tears from his eyes. He doesn't know why he's overreacting like this. He's used to hiding behind his mask - he's done it for years. It's just - everything that's happening all at once. His emotions are constantly battering against his control. It was only a matter of time before it shattered.

"Jack," Onyx says, walking slowly over to him, the bells at the end of her braid chiming softly. "There are very few people that Pitch will open up to. He's extremely private. Some people even say that he's cold. Do you think he's cold?"

"No. Of course not."

"He is willing to show you his emotions - his vulnerabilities. That's because he cares for you." She pauses. This doesn't come as naturally to her as it does to Amber, but that only makes Jack appreciate it more. "He still loves Karine, and he always will. But she's a memory. Don't doubt yourself, and don't doubt your place in his heart."

Amber smiles and reaches for Onyx's hand. Onyx returns the smile and Jack wonders how he didn't see their feelings for one another from the first moment. Then Amber turns to him and her smile softens. "We'll both be here to answer any questions on the last day of the promise month, but for now I'll say this: enjoy yourself. Smile, have fun. If you decide not to stay, this'll be the only royal feast you attend, so make the most of it."

"Maybe you're right."

"I know it's hard to think about - hard to try and choose your whole future here and now. But we all have turning points in our lives, Jack. Just think about what's most important to you, and if you can get that from being a courtesan."

"That's just it, though. There's been so many different courtesans, and they've all had such different lives."

"Courtesans as different as their kings and queens. Whatever you want most, talk to Pitch about it. See if he's willing to let you have what you want most, or if you can come to a compromise."

"I guess," Jack says with a sigh. The worst of his panic has worn off, and now he just feels drained. He wipes at his wet cheeks, then realises he's wiping off the make-up too. "I'm sorry, I'm ruining your hard work-"

"I don't care about the make-up, I care about you," Amber says, and pulls him into a hug. Jack's mouth works silently, not sure how to react. He thinks of Ben's cheerful disregard of his tears in Lunanoff, and how different things are now. How much better. He puts his arms around Amber and buries his face in red curls that smell of apples. "Whether or not Pitch loves you, I couldn't say for sure. And even if you knew, you shouldn't base your decision on whether to stay just on that. You have to think of your life, of what you want to do with it. Oh Jack. I'm so sorry that you've found yourself in this position. It must be difficult."

"You can say that again."

Amber laughs, and hugs him again. "We're here for you, whether you stay or go. We're your friends."

He wonders - would Onyx really be his friend, even if he turned down her royal cousin? He looks up at her, her eyes solemn but sincere. Yes, he thinks. She would.

"Do you want me to redo your make up, or would you rather go without?" Amber asks. "If it's going to make you more comfortable, you can change, too."

Jack blinks at her, and then realises she's being serious. Even though she must have spent hours upon hours preparing this robe, this jewellery, she would be willing to throw it aside in a heartbeat to make him feel better. "No, I love this robe! And I want to look the part for the festival, right? Come on, do the make up again - I wanna see what I look like."

The make-up goes on, and then the finishing piece: a crown of copper leaves. When Amber holds up a mirror, Jack lets out an unbelieving laugh. He looks like something out of a fairy tale, some autumn sprite come to life.

"You like?"

"Yeah - wow, I look - I look great."

"You always look great," Amber says and grins at him. "After all, you have the best dresser in all of Umbra at your disposal."

Jack laughs, and with each time he laughs or smiles, a little more of his tension melts away.

Amber fidgets with his hair. "Are you going to be okay with the festival? You're going to be seen in public as Pitch's courtesan for the first time, and that's a big step."

"I know," Jack says. "It'll be fine. It'll be better than feasts back home at least."

"What do you mean?"

Jack shrugs; he's already made enough of a scene for one day. Feasts in Lunanoff were fine - unless the king was in attendance. And then suddenly Jack became invisible. His father would ignore him, and when the king shuns someone, everyone does. No-one would speak to him; they wouldn't even look at him. Eventually he stopped turning up to feasts. He was never reprimanded for it, not even the ones where the whole royal family should have been in attendance. No-one seemed to even notice he wasn't there. Compared to that, whatever happens here will be a joy.

"It doesn't matter," Jack says, and changes the subject. "So, is there anything I need to know?"

"No; you won't be expected to do anything in particular," Onyx says. "All you need to do is enjoy it. There's a play, food - lots of cider." She pauses and frowns. "One thing you should know is that we won't be the only ones at the top table."

"I know. Me and you on one side, the wardens of the north and the east on the other. You father, Lord Tarr; and Lady Ravus. Pitch told me."

"Did he also tell you that Ravus is his mother-in-law?"

Jack stares at her. "She''s Karine's mother?" Pitch did _not_ mention that. Gods, what will she think of him?

"That's not going to make a difference to the way she treats you," Amber says quickly, guessing the direction of Jack's thoughts. "She's not going to judge you against Karine."

"But-"

"No buts. I grew up in the east, Jack. When I started out in the military, I served under Ravus. She can be unforgiving but she always judges people on their merits. No comparisons, no preconceptions."

Jack isn't entirely convinced, nor is he comforted. "And what are my merits?"

"Brave, smart, witty - _gorgeous_ robe. And you know what? Even if she doesn't like you, it's only for a few hours. She's going home tomorrow. Don't let worrying about her spoil your night. If anything, you should be worried about Tarrr."

Jack frowns. He had assumed that Onyx's father would be like her, cool but caring. It's a foolish assumption, considering how unlike his own father he is. "Why's that?"

"He might _sing_," Amber says, and her mock-horror makes Jack laugh, amused and relieved.

Amber slaps Onyx on the thigh. "And you, stop scaring him."

"I just wanted to prepare him-"

"Then maybe you should have told him about the time your father started a food fight. Or the time _you_ got drunk and started singing."

"_Amber!_"

Jack laughs, feeling better. Amber's right. What does it matter what Ravus thinks? And in any case, he's can always just avoid her for one evening.

Amber is still teasing Onyx when there is another knock at the door.

Pitch steps in, wearing the most elaborate robe Jack has ever seen him in. Black, as ever, but with a border of small golden leaves embroidered along the hem and neckline. He wears a crown of dark metal, the same one he was wearing in the portrait with Karine and Seraphina.

He looks regal; he looks handsome. Jack considers saying it, but the words don't come. Instead he smiles and goes over to Pitch, twirling to show off the robe.

Pitch stares down at him, eyes wide. He drinks Jack in, gazing down at him for long moments, and Jack soaks in the attention, feeling a little drunk on it.

Maybe Jack will always be second to Karine, but perhaps it could be a close second.

Jack smiles up at him. "So how do I look?"

"Perfect," Pitch says simply and leans in to kiss Jack. Jack's eyes fall closed and he relaxes into the kiss, sweet and soft. He sighs, smiling, when Pitch pulls away. "Very autumnal," he adds, and Jack laughs.

"So I hear that this festival involves lots of cider," Jack says, and Pitch looks over at Onyx.

"For some people," Pitch says coolly. "And those people had better curb their drinking, since the wardens of the east and north will be there."

Onyx puts her hands on her hips. "As I recall I wasn't the only one who was drinking last year."

"It's true," Amber says, grinning. "You were just as drunk as she was. I distinctly remember you dancing in a most unkingly fashion."

Pitch narrows his eyes but there is humour in them. "I am the king. Whatever I do is kingly."

"Of course, your highness," Amber says, a laugh dancing around the corners of her mouth.

"Besides," Onyx says, folding her arms. "It's far easier to get along with my father when you're drunk. As your personal advisor, I strongly suggest you have at least two mugs of cider before talking to him. It'll make everything much easier."

"Would that I could drink cider before political meetings," Pitch mutters, more than a little petulant, and then puts an arm around Jack's shoulders. "Are you ready Jack?"

_As I'll ever be,_ he thinks, but nods. "I'm ready."

* * *

The feast starts when they take their seats at the top table.

He and Onyx sit to Pitch's left, and on the right, the wardens of the north and the east. Onyx's father, Lord Tarr; and Lady Ravus. Now that he sees her, fingers of doubt grasp at him. Does she hate him? Does she think that he's trying to take Karine's place in Pitch's heart? _Is_ he?

His eyes leap nervously to glance at Ravus. She has none of Karine's delicate features. Her own are strong and hawklike, framed by very short salt-and-pepper hair. And then her gaze meets his, her dark eyes intense. He looks away quickly, concentrating instead on the crowd before him. There are dozens of people, mostly highborn Umbrans. Amongst those gathered are the retinues of the wardens of the north and the east, and everyone from the palace, but Jack doesn't see Monty; he must be hidden among all these strangers. Everywhere there is laughter and smiles, good cheer that is being helped along by cider, and Jack drinks plenty of it.

He spends the meal doing his best not to look at Ravus, and focuses intently on the entertainment, dancers representing a battle between the seasons.

When it's over, musicians take to the stage and Pitch stands, offering his hand to Jack. "Dance with me?"

Jack stares up at him in surprise. No-one has ever asked him to dance before. He smiles, his reservations melted away by alcohol. "I'd like that," he says, letting Pitch pull him to his feet. "Though I'm not very good."

"We'll keep it simple," Pitch says, and leads Jack to the dancers. They clear a gap for them, respectful of the king and his partner. Pitch takes Jack's hand and puts the other on his waist. Pitch steps slowly and carefully, wary of Jack's bare feet, but the dance has only three steps and Jack picks it up quickly; movement has always come naturally to him.

He looks up at Pitch with a smile. "So do you have to be political tonight?"

"No. Tonight is for pleasure," Pitch says, a small, suggestive smile quirking his lips.

"Is that so, my king?" Jack asks with a suggestive smile of his own.

Lust flares in Pitch's eyes. "It is. And it will be even more pleasurable when we're alone, Jack."

When the dance is over, he and Pitch step aside.

Instantly a man Jack vaguely recognises comes up to talk to Pitch - one of the councillors, he thinks - and Jack looks around. His first thought is that he feels short. These highborn Umbrans are so tall, it's like being lost in an elegant grey and black forest.

As Jack looks around the crowd, his gaze catches that of the warden of the north, who beams widely at him.

The man - Lord Tarr - strides over. He is lowborn, with deeply tanned skin, a thick grey beard framing his smile. He is short, shorter than Jack, but there is no sign that he feels cowed by these tall Umbrans. There is confidence in every step, and his smile is still wide and genuine when he arrives in from of Jack.

"It is so good to meet you at last, Jackson!" He pauses and then corrects himself. "Ah no - it is just Jack, isn't it?"

Jack nods, Lord Tarr's friendliness instantly putting him at ease. "That's right. And you're the warden of the north."

"Please, call me Tarr. How are you finding Umbra?"

For a moment, Jack wonders what to say, and comes up with, "It's different."

"You should come to the north," Tarr says. "It might be more to your liking than the ways of these fancy southerners."

"Lunanoff's a lot fancier than anything I've seen in the palace here," Jack says, then his gaze darts up at Pitch, hoping he's not offended him, but Pitch is still deep in conversation with the councillor. "But in a good way. Ruffles and gold leaf everywhere aren't really me."

"Then you should definitely come north. Not a ruffle in sight. And the journey! It's one of the greatest journeys in the world. Mountains and forests, coastal roads - ah, Jack, you've been stuck on that dusty moon all your life, now you are here you must see all there is! You and the king are always welcome in my castle."

The thought of that journey, of seeing so many wonders, sparks Jack's imagination. So many things to see here in Umbra, and as Pitch's courtesan, he has the perfect way to see it. Of course, he would have to convince Pitch to let him go, but something tells him that it wouldn't be all that difficult to persuade Pitch to do anything. "Thank you, Lord Tarr. I'm honoured by your invitation."

Tarr blinks at him and then gives a deep belly laugh. "I don't know if it's because we're in the south or that's just what you're like in Lunanoff, but there's no need for such formality with me, Jack. And I throw a hell of a welcome party. It puts this to shame - no offence, Pitch," he adds, seeing that Pitch is now alone.

"None taken."

"This is a fine party but it needs more ale. And better music - this is so dull! Give me a fiddle and I'll give you a tune that you can really dance to."

"I remember your fiddle playing only too well."

Tarr gives a roar of laughter and pats Pitch's arm. "Of course you do, nephew! How could anyone forget?"

Jack looks at them, curious and a little confused. Since his own father barely communicates with anyone, he has little experience but in Lunanoff everyone is always extremely formal when talking to the king. Despite Pitch's cool reserve, he seems at ease with Tarr's familiarity, even if he doesn't share it. But then, he is Pitch's uncle. Jack wonders what that would be like; and if he had an uncle, if he would have done anything to help Jack.

A woman's voice breaks into Jack's thoughts, deep and pleasantly melodic. "I hope you don't mind me cutting in."

It's Ravus, and panic spikes in Jack.

Tarr turns to greet her with a wide smile. "You are too late, Rav, I am the first to meet him!"

She fixes a glare on him. "It's not a competition, Tarr," she says, and turns to look down at Jack. Uncomfortable with the intensity of her dark gaze, he glances down at her clothes. Loose and lightweight robes, a contrast to the leather and furs that Tarr wears.

"Are you trying to terrorise my courtesan, Ravus?" Pitch asks, his voice calm but with the threat of danger threaded through it. He sounds protective, and Jack inches closer to him.

"Of course not," she says. "Why would I? I just wanted to get a good look at the Royal Courtesan." She looks down at Jack and gives him a cool smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you Jack. You must be something truly special to get Pitch to smile so often."

Jack is dumbstruck. When he imagined meeting Ravus, she ignored him, or said things about him not measuring up to Karine, but he never imagined her complimenting him, and _certainly_ not saying things about him making Pitch happy.

"You're beautiful, of course, but that alone wouldn't keep Pitch's interest." She taps a finger against her lips. "I would have preferred to meet you when you didn't look like a painted doll. These southerners do so love to dress up for a party."

"And what's wrong with that?" Tarr asks, looking offended and patting his leather tunic, fastened with intricately worked clasps. "It's not just the southerners who like to look good! Or is the party that offends you? You were never a fan of fun."

"I like fun just fine," Ravus snaps and folds her arms, turning slightly to glare at Tarr. "I just don't happen to think that drinking cider until you feel it a good idea to strip in front of everyone is a good idea."

Tarr laughs. "It was a good idea! It gets hot here in the south. Besides, you drank so much that you fell asleep long before I even took off my cloak!"

The continue and Jack stares. Umbra is a strange place. First Tarr's overfamiliarity with with the king and now two of the most powerful people in the country are arguing over what constitutes a good party. This lack of formality is alien to him. Though in private, his brothers and sister can be boisterous and larger-than-life, when it comes to public events like this they wear their formality like a heavy cloak. Even though Jack's been in Umbra almost a month, he obviously still has a great many things to learn.

As they argue, Onyx comes over looking frazzled, and puts a hand on Tarr's arm. "Father, you promised Amber a dance, and this is her favourite song."

"Of course!" Tarr goes to Amber and sweeps her onto the dance floor, smiling widely as he spins her, making her dress ripple like fire.

"Thank you," Ravus says to Onyx, who bows her head.

"I thought it best to step in before he brought up last year's winter solstice."

"Quite," Ravus says with a grimace. She turns her attention back to Jack, who's still feeling overwhelmed. "Things must be very different for you here, but I'm sure Pitch is helping you adjust."

"Yes, he is," Jack says, and puts a smile into place to hide his uncertainties. He still isn't sure what to think of her. "Everyone here in the palace has been very helpful, Lady Ravus."

She laughs, a musical thing. "Please, call me Rav. No-one but the king calls me Ravus," she says and looks up to Pitch. "And when are you going to present Jack formally? I've been waiting for the invitation. I thought you might do it during the equinox, since we're all here, rather than making us travel all this way again."

"Jack is still getting used to Umbra," Pitch says. "I don't want to rush him."

Ravus gives a disapproving _hmm_ and then turns back to Jack. "In any case, it's been delightful to meet you, Jack, and I look forward to seeing you again soon," she says and turns to Pitch, giving him a small bow. "I hope you'll excuse me, Pitch. As you know, we leave early on the morrow. Besides, if I don't leave before Tarr finishes his dance he'll try to pull me in next."

"Of course. Onyx, will you escort Lady Ravus to the palace?"

Onyx nods and goes with Lady Ravus and a group of similarly dressed men and women, and together they head out into the night. Jack lets out a breath, relieved at not having to spend more time with Ravus. A brief meeting is more than enough for him.

As the night goes on, Jack is startled by how many people wish to greet him. It makes him uncomfortable after a while, though the irony is not lost on him. Years of being ignored at his father's feasts, and wishing more than anything for some attention - and now that he has it, it's all too much and he just wants to be left alone. With a quirk of a smile, he finishes his cider and lets one of the servants pour him some more.

Pitch drinks too, and the more he does, the more relaxed he gets. His arm goes around Jack's shoulders, fingers tracing the shapes of his marking. Even when talking to others he still lavishes attention on Jack, who decides he likes this affectionate, tipsy Pitch. He'd been afraid that in public, Pitch would be cool or distant, but it seems that alcohol has blunted any formality.

Although there are many curious strangers wanting to meet the king's courtesan, his friends come to see him too. Monty tells him about the folklore of the north and the east; Amber comes to check on him and tells him tales about some of the crowd. When Onyx returns, she comes to apologise for her father, and she speaks of her childhood, split between the north and the south.

As the night wears on, Jack feels exhausted; he's sure he has talked to more people tonight than ever before in his life.

"Is everything alright?" Pitch asks, putting a hand to Jack's shoulder.

"I'm just tired; it's been a long night."

"If you like, we can go back to the palace. It's a little early, but I'd be more than happy to get out of here."

"I'd like that. It'd be nice to spend some time alone with you."

With a silky laugh, Pitch leans in closer. "Ah yes; you wanted pleasure, didn't you," he purrs, and Jack shivers.

After speaking briefly with Alden, Pitch goes back up to the throne on the dais. He gives a short speech about the harvest and thanks his guests, telling them that they are welcome to stay and enjoy the evening.

And then finally they step outside into the night, Onyx trailing after them as a bodyguard. Candles in jars have been lit along the path, leading the way to the palace. It's romantic, Jack thinks, and he moves a little closer to Pitch. As they walk Jack feels something wet hit his arm. He looks around to see what could have splashed him, but sees nothing in the darkness beyond the candlelight.

"Finally," Pitch says and he holds out a hand, and Jack sees a fat drop of water splash in his palm. "It's been a dry summer, and there's barely been any rain over the past few months."

"Rain...?" More water hits Jack's arms and he stares at it. A sense of great wonder spreads through Jack; feeling rain on his skin is as unreal as seeing a dragon, and his connection with the weather only deepens that wonder. He closes his eyes and feels the heaviness of the clouds and the release of the rain. It makes him feel relaxed and powerful all at once; he feels as though the rain is washing away all of his stresses and anxieties of the night, all his earlier worries. As the wind spirals around him and the rain gets harder, he laughs, delight springing to life. "Rain!" He opens his eyes and grins at a bemused Pitch, spreading out his arms and feeling the drops of cool water against his skin, tipping back his head to let the rain wash over his face.

The rain gets harder still, soaking Jack's robe; when he looks at Pitch again, he sees water running over his skin, dripping from hair and nose. He's looking at Jack with a crooked grin, desire in his eyes. Jack glances down at himself; the wet robe is almost completely see-through, and it clings to his body in a most becoming way.

_Teasing,_ Jack thinks, and laughs again, deeper this time, a touch sultry. He steps forward to rest his hands against Pitch's chest and grins up at him. "Do you like what you see, my king?"

"Always," Pitch says and he pulls Jack closer, pressing their mouths together. Jack runs his tongue against Pitch's upper lip and presses in, tasting cider on Pitch's tongue.

By the time they pull apart, both of them are completely soaked but both of their smiles are wide. They gaze at each other for a long moment, until Onyx clears her throat.

A blush creeps over Jack's cheeks and he steps back to give her an embarrassed smile. She's standing a few feet away with her hands behind her back and dripping wet. "I'm so sorry, Onyx."

"Perhaps you could continue this inside?"

When they arrive at Jack's room, Pitch leaves him to dry and change and goes to do the same himself, promising to return for a goodnight kiss and perhaps a little more.

He doesn't keep Jack waiting long.

Jack has time to dry and pull on a bed robe, but only moments later there is a brief rap on the door. Pitch steps in, wearing a bed robe too, one with a deep-v neck revealing a toned chest and stomach. Jack greets him with a kiss that quickly grows indecent. The thought that if he chooses not to stay, this might be one of the last chances he has to be with Pitch, only makes Jack want him more. And yet the thought of doing anything here, the only place Jack has to call his own, makes him uneasy.

"Wait," Jack says breathlessly, and rests his hand against Pitch's chest. "Is there somewhere else we can- This is the only place that's mine and-"

"It's your sanctuary," Pitch says, understanding instantly. "We could go to my rooms, if you like."

Jack looks up with wide eyes. "Your rooms? You- you would let me into your rooms?"

Pitch pauses and cocks his head. "Are you thinking of the courtesans in Lunanoff again? You must know by now that they're not the same."

Bowing his head, Jack bites his lip. In truth he was thinking about Karine. If these are the rooms that Pitch shared with Karine - the same bed - then is he really happy to take Jack there? Of course he doesn't say that; he'll never mention her unless Pitch does first. That was a lesson his father taught him well.

"I would be honoured to see your rooms."

With a smile, Pitch takes Jack's hand and leads the way.

When they get to Pitch's room, Jack only has time to notice a large bed before Pitch pushes him against a wall and presses close against him, biting his lip and grabbing a handful of his hair. The other hand goes to Jack's waist, resting firmly and confidently. Jack can feel Pitch's erection pressed against his stomach through their robes, and he gives a shivery moan.

"Pitch," he whispers, and kisses him, arms going around Pitch's neck and pushing up onto his tiptoes. He loses himself in the sensations, the touches and the scents, the taste and the sound of Pitch whispering his name. He's so hard, achingly hard, and he whimpers as rubs himself against Pitch's thigh. Pitch gives something like half a growl and nips at Jack's lip before going back to thoroughly ravishing his mouth.

"Make me come," Jack gasps between kisses. "I don't care how, just make me come."

Pitch grins and pulls Jack towards the bed. Shrugging out of his own robe, Pitch lies down. Jack stares at him. He tries to appreciate everything - the long legs, the toned torso, even the long white scars that mar his skin - but all he can focus on is Pitch's cock. It's the first time he's seen it so clearly; all other times were while their bodies were pressed together so that Jack couldn't see it, or while his eyes were closed.

He sits on the edge of the bed, and continues to look for long moments. Pitch lies there and strokes Jack's hand, letting him look as much as he likes. Slowly Jack lifts a hand and reaches over to wrap his fingers around Pitch's cock, feeling the heat, the girth.

_I wonder what it would feel like inside me,_ Jack thinks, and a blush spills over his cheeks. He's not even let Pitch put his fingers inside him; he's certainly not ready for anything else. But still - would it hurt? Would it feel good? Biting his lip, he starts to stroke Pitch's cock, watching as his eyes fall shut and he lets out a shuddering breath.

"What do _you_ want?" Jack asks him.

"You," Pitch says simply, opening his eyes. "Any way I can have you."

The sincerity makes Jack smile. "I know you had a plan. Tell me."

"I was thinking that we're both too drunk for anything complex, so I was thinking something simple: you on top of me and I could bring us both off with my hand."

Jack nods. "Simple sounds good."

Pitch reaches for Jack's hand and pulls him down to straddle him. Jack's hands rest on the bed either side of Pitch's shoulders and he leans in for another kiss. And then Pitch pushes aside the folds of Jack's robe to take his cock in hand. He gives a few slow strokes before wrapping his long fingers around his own cock too. Jack groans at the heat of Pitch's cock against his own, at the firm pressure as Pitch starts to stroke them.

Everything is easy and relaxed. Jack smiles at Pitch, feeling comfortable and safe, and leans down to kiss him, wet and slow. The pleasure builds slowly, like a sweet heat pooling in his belly and spreading through him. As he feels himself getting close, he pulls back to look at Pitch. There's a tug in his chest, a sweet ache. This is where he wants to be; this is where he belongs.

_This feels right_, Jack thinks, and then cries out as his orgasm crashes over him.

Jack collapses on top of Pitch, breathing ragged, and Pitch comes shortly after, as though Jack's orgasm thrust him over the edge. Jack can feel spurts of warmth over his stomach. Pitch holds him tightly, so tightly, his hand clenched in Jack's hair. Jack feels so close to him, closer than he's ever felt with anyone, blissed out and drunk and happier than he's ever been.

"I love you, Jack," Pitch whispers.

Jack jerks up despite his post-orgasmic lethargy and the way the room seems to be spinning slightly.

No-one has ever said those words to Jack, and his drunk mind doesn't know what to do with them, whether to believe, whether to doubt.

It feels like a dream - maybe it is a dream. Jack laughs, and he wants to cry a little as well. Can Pitch truly love him?

He looks for any sign that Pitch is joking, but all he sees is a tired, satisfied smile and deep affection in his eyes. Jack smiles. Just for now, he decides to believe. Just for now, he lets joy trickle through him.

Maybe the morning will show things as they really are, but for now Jack clings to that belief.

_He loves me._

Jack lowers his head and they lie there for a long moment, breathing together, Pitch stroking Jack's hair; until Pitch pushes gently at Jack's shoulder.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he says. Jack rolls onto his back to let Pitch up, and he can't seem to stop smiling.

He laughs lightly and puts a hand over his eyes. He's too drunk to deal with this. They're probably too drunk too deal with it.

"Is everything alright?" Pitch asks, returning with a towel and cleaning Jack up gently.

"Everything's great," Jack says, and kisses him.

"Yes. It is."

Jack drinks a glass of water that Pitch presses into his hands.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Pitch asks, and Jack grins, nodding. On top of everything else, that's just too much. It's the perfect end to a wonderful night. Surely this must be a dream; but if it is, Jack's not at all sure he wants to wake up.

With a hand gesture, Pitch snuffs out the lights. He puts a hand over Jack's waist and pulls him close. Jack tries to consider everything - that confession - but alcohol and tiredness finally catch up to him, and sleep overcomes him.

* * *

Jack wakes, and instantly knows where he is. He _knows_, but can't quite believe it.

Pale morning light streams through unfamiliar windows. There's a freshness in the air, a newness.

He shifts in the bed, trying to turn to look at Pitch while making as little movement as possible, not wanting to wake him. He's not successful; when he sees Pitch, his silver-gold eyes are open and he is smiling.

"Good morning," Jack whispers, as though anything louder might break the spell that seems to have settled over him, ridding him of all the worries that have been plaguing him so of late.

"Good morning," Pitch whispers back, and kisses Jack gently. When he pulls away, Jack rests his head on Pitch's chest, listening to his heartbeat.

It's a peaceful moment, precious, and Jack wants to stay in it forever. No choices, no politics, no worrying or fretting. Only him and Pitch, and _I love you_ fresh in Jack's memory. He smiles; maybe Amber was right. Of all the things he needs to worry about, Pitch's affection is not one of them.

"I want to give you something," Pitch says, and slides out of bed. Jack pushes up on his elbows, eyes trailing up and down Pitch's naked body, long and lean, muscles strong and shifting under grey skin as he moves. Jack swallows thickly, desire waking in him. "I was going to give it to you as a gift for after the promise month, if you decided to stay, but I want you to have it whatever you decide."

He's standing at a dresser, his back to Jack. Around him, Jack sees a small chest, and puddles of gold and silver chains. A small statue of a tree, made of silver, stands at one side of the dresser. Its branches are bare save for a single necklace holding a golden locket.

When Pitch turns, he has something in his hand. Sitting on the bed, he reaches for Jack's hand and drops a silver necklace into his palm. The pendant is in the shape of the crescent moon, a milky moonstone at one of the points.

"My father spent most of my fourteenth birthday in Iscadin," Pitch says quietly. "In peace talks with your mother."

Jack's head jerks up and he stares at Pitch with wide eyes. "My mother?"

"It was the only time that the Moon Queen came to Umbra. They were hoping that if they talked in person, they could come to an accord that their councillors could not. There was no agreement, but they liked one another. As they were leaving, my father mentioned that it was my birthday, and the queen took off her necklace and gave it to him, to give to me as an apology for keeping my father away on my birthday. My own mother died when I was very young, so this felt- special. An act of kindess that I've always remembered, and a gift I've always treasured. And now I want you to have it."

Staring down at the necklace, Jack runs his fingers over it. He's never been given anything that belonged to his mother before. Everything is kept in the shrine his father keeps in the west wing, and though Jack has broken in more than once, it's not the same as being given something. Something that Pitch treasured, no less, that he wants Jack to have whether he stays or no. It feels like a gift from both his mother and Pitch, and he wraps his arms around Pitch tightly.

"Thank you," he whispers. "This means so much to me."

"You're very welcome, Jack," Pitch says, and kisses Jack's hair. Jack opens his mouth to ask about what Pitch said. _I love you_. It seems almost like it was a dream, and Jack wants to ask about the truth of it, but he doesn't dare. What if it _was_ a dream? What if Pitch refutes it?

But no - Jack holds the proof of it in his hand. He pulls back and looks at the necklace again. "Can I put it on?"

"Of course," Pitch says. He fastens it for him, and Jack looks down at the silver crescent against his pale skin. Pitch pulls him to his feet and leads him away from the bed. Jack lets himself be pulled, curious but happy for Pitch to lead him wherever he will.

They end up before a mirror, so that Jack can look at his necklace properly. But it's not the necklace he's looking at. With Pitch standing behind him, looking at their reflections. Jack is reminded of that first day in Umbra. Jack had been so afraid that day, so disconcerted by the markings and the collar and cuffs. He barely notices them now, and when he does he rather likes them, the markings especially. Yes, they mark him out as a courtesan, but they mark him as _wanted_. He pulls the robe off his shoulders so that he can see them. Instantly Pitch's hands go to them, tracing the patterns. That easy intimacy makes Jack's heart ache a little, especially with how comfortable Pitch is, naked in his presence. _He loves me,_ Jack thinks, suddenly sure, and smiles.

Jack's gaze looks up to meet Pitch's in the mirror. "We look good together," he says, and Pitch gives him a bright smile.

"We do," he says, and Jack turns in his arms to kiss him, feeling like he's home for the first time in his life.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews, favs and follows! Each time I get one, it makes me so happy, and it keeps me reading. Thank you so much! To the reviewer who asked what trews are - they're tight trousers, pretty much what he wears in the movie :)


	9. Chapter 9

The last day of the promise month begins beautifully, the sky growing lighter through purple and pink and yellow, and now, finally, a light, fragile blue.

Jack sits out on his balcony, hugging his knees into his chest. He hasn't slept much. For a few moments he thinks he knows what his choice will be, and then his doubts raze through him like a forest fire, leaving ragged holes in his certainty.

He sighs. The only thing that he is certain of is that by sunset today, he will have made his choice, one way or the other.

Standing up, he walks around the edge of the balcony, trailing a finger along the magical shield, white and blue blooming out behind him as it reacts to his aura. He's trying to think about what Amber said - that he has to think about what he wants from his life, and if he can get that from being a courtesan. What _does_ he want? If he'd been asked that on Lunanoff, he would have said he wanted to be free to do whatever he liked, to run on the rooftops and spend time with Jamie. He sees now how small that sense of freedom was.

Here in Umbra, freedom is as vast as the mountains and the forests. But that freedom comes with a price: either to be Pitch's courtesan, or to find some kind of work.

Onyx said people would pay to look at him, but the autumn festival showed the problems with that. Jack likes people paying attention to him but he doesn't like being gawked at like he's some interesting piece of jewellery. He wants people to be interested in _him_. Not Jack-the-courtesan. Not Jack-the-Moon-Prince. But him, as a person. Perhaps he could deal with being paraded in front of others, but he's not sure he could be happy.

So what if he stays? Bound to Pitch for all of his life, subject to his whims. Doing whatever Pitch wants of him. That's not really fair, though; so far Pitch has been kind and generous, not pushed Jack any further than he's been willing to go. Will that change if Jack says yes, though? Without any need to persuade Jack, will Pitch's kindness continue?

Jack touches his pendant. Pitch gave him this. He didn't have to, but he did. Was it truly from kindness, or was it a ploy to convince Jack to stay? Both, Jack thinks, neither simple altruism nor pure manipulation.

There's a knock at the door, and Jack stands. It'll be Pitch. Normally the courtesan wouldn't see the king until sunset, when their decision had been made, but Jack asked if Pitch would breakfast with him; he wants to put some of the questions that are racing through his head to Pitch.

Pitch comes out onto the balcony, already dressed. As he looks at Pitch, Jack sees a little wariness in his eyes. No wonder; Jack's decision will have an impact not just on Pitch but on Umbra as a whole. Jack tries not to think of that. Instead he puts his arms around Pitch's waist, resting his head on his chest. Pitch holds him tightly. For a moment they stand there in silence and Jack tries to think about never having this again; never hearing Pitch's heartbeat and soft breathing, smelling his smoky scent, feeling his warmth. He closes his eyes against the thought. This is about more than that. He has to think about more than that.

Pulling back, Jack leads him to the sofa and they sit there in silence for a moment. Jack resumes his former position, legs hugged into his chest.

"Did you sleep well?" Pitch asks and Jack shakes his head.

"Not really."

"Nor I."

Another knock at the door and breakfast is set on the table before them. Jack picks at it, not hungry. Pitch seems as listless as he is, though he rarely eats much. He seems lost in thought, though his gaze jumps to Jack several times. The silence is uneasy, a rare thing for them, and Jack decides to start his questions.

"So," Jack starts. "I wanted to ask you some things. To help me make my decision. Maybe you'll think I'm being impertinent. I might even break some Umbran traditions I don't know about, and if I do I'm sorry. But I need to ask them, because if I'm going to be spending the rest of my life here, I need to know if I'm going to be happy."

"Alright," Pitch says, inclining his head. He is still distant and cool, and it hurts Jack's heart a little. He understands; Pitch is distancing himself to save the pain if Jack says no, but it still hurts.

Taking a deep breath, he begins. "If I stay, I need more freedom. I need to be outside more, I want to explore, I want to climb trees and I want to learn to swim. I can't just stay here in my rooms when you're at court or in the city."

"It's not safe for you to go out on your own-"

"Then Onyx can come with me. Or someone else. But I can't stay here, trapped, with no way out. I'll be miserable."

Pitch looks at him for a long moment and then sighs. "Onyx comes with me to court and to meetings more often than not. And there are few other people I trust enough." He pauses and gazes out at the view, frowning. "Perhaps one of the guards. I'll speak to them. If this is non-negotiable, I'll find a solution."

"Thank you." Compromise, just like Amber said. "And the other big thing - I want to learn to use my magic. I want the binding off."

There's another long moment of silence "That is a very big thing to ask, Jack."

"I know. But being here - I can feel the weather, you know? And part of me - my magic - wants to reach out and touch it, but I can't. It's frustrating, and it's - It's like being caged."

Pitch sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I can't just remove the binding, Jack. You don't know how to use your magic. You need training, and that would take years."

"I'm happy to learn, I'll do anything I need to-"

"It's not just that. You're _very_ powerful."

Jack blinks. "Am I?"

"You're an ice mage of the Selanan royal family. That you're powerful goes without saying. Jethryn said that you're one of the most powerful mages he's ever met."

"But-" Jack stops, not knowing how to continue. "Is that why my family bound my magic?" He sounds lost and hurt, and he's certainly not expecting an answer, but Pitch gives a bitter laugh.

"I have many ideas about why your family bound your magic, and few of them are as charitable as that." He sighs. "Still - if your magic was unbound while you're untrained, that's a terrible risk."

Jack blinks. "Do- do you not trust me?"

"Whether or not I trust you is beside the point. You don't know how to control your magic, and that makes you dangerous."

"Whether you trust me is exactly the point," Jack says. "I want more freedom and if you don't trust me, you're not going to give it to me."

"Don't you see my situation? Weather mages have always been rare, and have _always_ been feared. If your magic went out of control it could destroy weather patterns around the globe. It could be more devastating that the spell that ended the Great War. It happened before, though on a smaller scale, and I can't risk it happening again."

"What?" Jack sits up a little, frowning; he has no idea what Pitch means.

"The Ice War. Don't they teach you that in Lunanoff?" Jack shakes his head and Pitch gives a snort of derision. "Of course they don't. Five hundred years ago, the Umbran king turned down a marriage to a Selenan princess. Things went rapidly downhill from there, and culminated in the Selenan king causing the ice from the North Pole to creep south over the north of Umbra. After, he said that he only meant it to happen a little, as a threat, but he lost control and the ice spread over once-fertile farmlands that have been useless ever since, trapped in permafrost. There was a great famine, and tens of thousands of people died - there would have been more deaths, if Selena had not sent plant mages to help boost our remaining crops, as an act of contrition.

"So you see my dilemma, Jack. I can't risk that happening again."

"I've never heard that story before," Jack murmurs, shocked that his own ancestor's foolishness could cause so many deaths - and that it was due to the magic that Jack shares, the magic that feels so natural, so right.

"I suspect there are many stories you've not heard before. All nations write their own history, but isolated on the moon, you don't even have a chance to see anything of the world your people used to share with us." Pitch sighs and waves a hand dismissively. "But that's not the issue at hand." He pauses for a long time, gazing out at the forests.

Perhaps it's not, but it makes Jack uncomfortable to think that the history he knows has been selective – that the people of Lunanoff have not been told of any of their nation's failings and mistakes. It seems controlling, manipulative; and if they don't know of their mistakes, how can they learn from them?

Pitch shifts to take Jack's hand, and looks at him for long moments. "We could ease the binding, so that you'll be able to access a little magic, and Jethryn will teach you control. And as you learn more, we can ease the binding more. I can't make any promises about removing the binding completely, but I can promise that we can lessen it, and that we'll try and teach you."

"Really?"

Pitch nods, and then after a pause, he leans in to kiss Jack. His fingers trace the edge of Jack's collar, then curl in his hair, gentle but claiming. It makes Jack shiver. He loves that possessiveness; loves the feeling of being _wanted_.

When Pitch moves away, obviously exercising a great deal of restraint, Jack resists the urge to grab the front of his robe and pull him back.

"Just one more thing," Jack says, hoping he's doing the right thing. "You said you loved me."

Pitch goes very still and after a moment he meets Jack's eyes. "I did. And I do."

Jack's trying to be serious, but he can't stop the smile that springs to his lips, or the lightness that fills his heart. "You only said it that one time, though. Why?"

"I didn't say it before because it would be manipulative. I only said it _then_ because I was drunk."

Jack pauses. "I know that alcohol lowers inhibitions. But did it make you more open to saying it, or more open to being manipulative?"

With a dark chuckle, Pitch bows his head. "Which indeed, Jack."

Pitch doesn't say any more; it seems that is all the answer he is getting. "That's all the questions I had," he says quietly.

Pitch nods and gives Jack a brief kiss before stepping back. "I'll leave you to think. And when you're ready... Come to see me."

Jack is left alone with his thoughts, but they seem to circle back on each other endlessly, doubts making him reconsider again and again.

When Onyx and Amber arrive, he's grateful for the distraction.

"I thought you might as well wear something comfortable," Amber says, handing him the clothes, and Jack smiles gratefully at her. "When Onyx comes to take you to the king, I'll bring the robe you asked for."

"Thanks."

"And if you want something else for when you're giving Pitch your answer, just ask the guards to come get me."

Jack nods and then gestures to the balcony. "Can you come and sit with me for a while? Or do you need to leave?"

"We're here for as long as you need us."

Jack goes to change, a simple cream tunic and brown trews. He frowns at his reflection. These aren't what he feels comfortable in any more, he thinks. Without a robe, he feels like something is missing.

He goes to join Onyx and Amber on the balcony. Onyx is standing by the wall with her arms folded, while Amber sits on the sofa, sipping juice, eating some of the pastries. Jack smiles, remembering Onyx admonishing her for the same thing the first day he met her. Today Onyx is quiet and pensive. If Jack says no, she will have to deal with Pitch, he realises, both as a king and as her cousin. Jack thinks for a moment about how much his saying no would hurt Pitch and bites his lip. He knows that he needs to be selfish today, to make the decision that's right for him, but the thought of hurting Pitch makes pain twist in his chest.

"You know," Jack says, picking up a piece of fruit and nibbling on it absentmindedly. "I was going to ask you questions, to help me decide, but I don't think there's anything I can ask that'll really help. Is there anything you think I should know?"

Amber and Onyx's eyes meet for a moment, and then Onyx sighs. "All I would say to you is just to be aware that Pitch is showing you his good side. There's darkness in him. Things won't always be easy. But I love him, even though I've seen the worst of him. And he always treated Karine and Seraphina wonderfully and I know he'll do the same to you."

"What do you mean, darkness?"

Onyx is silent for a moment, as if she doesn't want to say anything bad about Pitch, but Amber steps in.

"He has a temper. He likes things to go his way - he likes to be in control. His moods can be unpredictable... But in the end, I think those things are true of any of us. I think what Onyx is really saying is that all those doubts, all that fear and anger inside of you? Pitch has those things too. This kind, gentle person he's been presenting to you is real, but it's only one side of him."

"I get that - I've seen some of it. He lost his temper when we were in Iscadin, and I saw how upset he was when I went into the gallery. But- I don't think he'd hurt me."

"Oh, of course he wouldn't hurt you," Amber says, moving closer to him and taking his hand. "That's not what I mean at all. It's just - he's been showing you this idealised version of himself. We just want to be sure that you know that's not all there is to him."

"I know. I get that." Jack sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm just grasping for something definitive, something that'll make me know for sure that I'm making the right choice."

"There's no such thing, Jack," Amber says, giving him a sad smile. "You have to make up your own mind and hope for the best."

"I think- I think I know what I'm going to choose. I'm going to spend some more time thinking about it but- for now, can you just talk? Tell me stories about Umbra, or Pitch."

They while away the morning telling Jack about places he's never seen, weaving tales of beaches and plains, of the stark beauty of the wild north.

Then there are tales of young Pitch: trying to show off his knowledge to the tutor but being bested by Onyx, two years younger than him; of plotting ways to sneak cakes out of the kitchen; of sneaking out of the palace to ride into Iscadin and causing a panic.

Eventually though, they have to go, and Jack resists the urge to beg them to stay. He can't put it off any longer. He has to think. He has to make a decision.

* * *

Jack explores all his rooms and the rooms on his corridor. He goes back out onto his balcony and thinks some more.

He thinks about how Pitch loves him, and how that makes him feel warm and light and _special_. But will Pitch always love him? What if he changes his mind, and Jack is trapped here, ignored by Pitch just as he was ignored by his father?

He thinks about Jamie, about his brothers and sister, about never seeing them again, and his heart hurts.

And then he thinks about Amber and Onyx and Monty, his friends.

About this incredible world with its forests and mountains and lakes.

He thinks about the possibility of staying in Umbra if he says no, and what it would be like for people to stare at him all day as though he's a statue, not caring about _him _but only the way he looks.

He thinks about the war that is inevitable if he says no.

And most of all he thinks about freedom, of all the different meanings it can have. Of what it means to him.

He doesn't want to make a decision but he knows he has to.

The sun dips low in the sky and letting out a shaky breath, he nods.

He knows what he's going to choose.

Truthfully he knew days ago, he's just been avoiding making it final but now he's out of time.

There's a knock at the door and Jack takes a deep breath. Onyx steps in and looks at Jack with questions in her eyes. Ever the professional, she doesn't ask any of them. Amber comes in, and though there's a slight strain in her smile, it's warm. She hands him the robe.

He goes into the bathroom to change, grabbing something from the cabinet before dressing. He then looks in the mirror and examines his reflection. Jack asked for this robe in particular. It's a smoky grey-blue, and it's one of the few robes that aren't sheer. It's fastened by intricate silver clasps on the shoulder that are cool against his skin. The rest of it is completely plain, and it drops to the floor where it covers his feet. It's a little more sober than most of his robes. Fitting for such a serious occasion.

"You look beautiful, Jack," Amber says when he comes out, and pulls him into a tight hug. Jack hugs back, closing his eyes, enjoying the moment. "Remember what I said. Whatever you choose, we'll be here for you. If you choose not to stay, I'll come and see you in Iscadin tomorrow and we'll talk about your next steps. And if you do choose to stay..." She grins. "Then I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you, Amber. For everything. You're wonderful."

"I know," she says with a wink. "You're pretty wonderful yourself, Jack. Good luck."

She kisses his cheek before leaving, and then he is alone with Onyx. She gives him a moment to go out onto the balcony, to breathe in fresh air and to feel the wind on his skin. The sunset is glorious, pinks and purples and yellows, a mirror to the sunrise. It seems like an omen, but if it is, Jack has no idea what it means.

"Jack?" He turns to see Onyx waiting in the doorway to his rooms. "Are you ready?"

After lingering a moment, closing his eyes and smiling as the wind plays with his hair, Jack nods and goes back inside. Onyx gestures at the golden leash, hanging near the door. "Take that with you. If you want to remain the king's courtesan, you'll offer him the leash. If you don't, you'll cast it aside."

"Alright," Jack murmurs, taking it in his hands. He looks down at it for a moment. There's the slightest quiver of nervousness in his stomach, but there's no doubt. "Let's go."

Onyx leads the way, and Jack's heart races as they head down unfamiliar corridors. The stone is cool beneath his feet, and the torches in the wall brackets make the shadows flicker and scurry like something alive.

Onyx glances behind occasionally, a deep furrow in her brow. Does she fear that he's going to run off? It would be pointless, being that he can claim his freedom now if he wishes. Part of him does want to run, though, to avoid making a decision, to try and put it off a little longer. Truly, though, he knows it wouldn't do any good. The only thing that more time would give him is more chance to worry and fret.

They descend a spiral staircase, one of the towers, and then another long corridor. The ceiling, high above, is draped in darkness; the light of the torches don't reach. It's tall, even for Umbra, and there is more decoration than in most parts of the palace. The usual geometric designs are more intricate, golden inlays in the wall and carved into the pillars.

As they approach, Jack sees a huge set of doors, made of a dark wood. Inlaid gold makes a frame for a carving, not the geometric design but something darker. It reminds Jack of the doors to the shadow room, but he doesn't have the same visceral reaction to them. The pattern is like black ribbons curling and dancing, overlapping, knotting. Trying to follow their paths is almost meditative. All of the patterns converge on a central disc made of a polished black stone. He peers at it, sees his reflection.

"This is the throne room," Onyx says quietly. "Pitch will be in there. Go in, and kneel before the throne. If you want to remain his courtesan, offer him the leash. If you do not, drop it to the floor and come out. I'll arrange for you to go to Iscadin."

Jack nods, and turns to her. "You're really helped me. Right from that first day. I was so scared – I had no idea what was happening. But you told me what to expect, let me know what was going on. You were the first one who tried to help me. Thank you, Onyx."

She gives him a smile of her own, though it wavers. "You are very welcome, Jack. Good luck."

Pulling open the doors, she stands aside. After taking a deep breath, Jack steps forward, and then looks around with wide eyes.

The room is huge. A hall, a truly vast space. The columns and the walls are grey stone with threads of silver running through them, something Jack's never seen before; the floor is mosaic, black and gold tiles forming repeating patterns of squared spirals. Huge windows line the walls, with large stained glass sections at the top; the place would be even more spectacular in the day with sunlight streaming through them.

And then at the centre of the wall, on a raised dais, is the throne. Two thrones, Jack notices, one for the missing queen. Panic kicks in his stomach but he ignores it. Pitch sits in the other throne, wearing his crown and a heavy, official-looking cloak. Both hands rest in his lap and he watches as Jack approach, torchlight flickers in his eyes.

Five steps lead up to the dais, and Jack stops before them. He meets Pitch's eyes, and sees no emotion in them. His normally expressive face is like a mask. Is this what he looks like while holding court, while doing his kingly duties? It's so different from the Pitch that Jack normally sees and scares him a little, but he kneels, as instructed.

He looks at the floor, examining the patterns, and takes a couple of deep, slow breaths. He runs his fingers over the leather strap at the end of the leash. This is it. Once he does this, there is no going back. His conviction doesn't waver. He knows what he wants.

One more deep breath and then he looks up to meet Pitch's impassive gaze.

Jack raises his hand, offering Pitch the leash.

Surprise flickers over Pitch's face and he stands, opening his mouth, but can't seem to force the words out. Coming down the steps, he reaches for the leash, but pauses before his fingers touch it. "Are you sure, Jack?"

Jack's heart aches at Pitch's generosity in giving him another chance, despite how much Jack knows he wants to take the leash. He smiles, knowing he's made the right choice. "I'm sure."

Pitch takes in and tugs it slightly, indicating for Jack to stand. The instant he does, Pitch sweeps him into a tight embrace. "Jack," he whispers into his hair. "My courtesan."

"My king," Jack whispers back, burying his face into the soft velvet of Pitch's doublet.

After a long moment, Pitch releases him and looks down with awe in his eyes. "I thought you'd say no. I was sure you'd say no."

Jack shakes his head. "You've changed my life." He blushes, feeling melodramatic. "I want to be with you. I want to stay in Umbra, and see everything that I can. But what we talked about this morning-"

"I stand by it," Pitch says solemnly. "But for now, I would very much like to take you outside."

Jack blinks. He thought for certain that Pitch would want to take him to bed, but it appears he has other plans. "Okay," Jack says and grins. He's intrigued, and he'll never say no to a trip outside, though he very much hopes that Pitch's bed will be the final destination of the day.

They walk hand-in-hand and step out of the throne room. Onyx's eyes widen and she throws her arms around Pitch's neck. He holds her back for a long moment and Jack smiles, feeling honoured to be allowed to see both of them with their guards down like this.

She pulls back and smiles up at Pitch. "I'm so happy for you," she says, and then looks over at Jack to smile at him. "And for you. I know you'll be happy together."

"I think so," Jack says, reclaiming Pitch's hand.

Onyx can't seem to stop smiling; wider than her normal smile. "I'll get Amber to give you an extra hug from me in the morning," she tells Jack, and he laughs.

Pitch tells her to prepare the flet, and Jack watches her go, not knowing what Pitch means and not really caring. While they wait for her to return, Pitch leads him to an antechamber off the side of the throne room, every bit as richly decorated. There is a pitcher of wine on a table, and Pitch pours them both a cup.

Looking at Jack very seriously, he says, "You said I've changed your life; you've changed mine as well. I've been happier with you than I have for many years, and with you by my side, I'm looking forward to the future. So I drink to you, Jack, and to us."

He drinks deep and Jack does the same, the rich taste of dark wine heavy on his tongue. Pitch leads him to a sofa and they sit, Pitch's arms around him and his fingers in his hair.

"In a few days I need to return to Iscadin," Pitch says. "Would you like to come with me? We can stay overnight, and I can show you the city."

"I'd love to," Jack says, feeling a flicker of excitement. He thinks about the way he's viewed cities before – racing over the rooftops of Lunanoff – and grins at the thought of doing the same with Pitch. Somehow, he doesn't think Pitch would agree to that.

They drink another cup of wine and Pitch tells him about other plans over the next few months: a diplomatic visit to the country east of Umbra; the winter festival.

They're interrupted when Onyx returns to tell them that everything is ready.

When they step outside, Jack gives a delighted laugh at the feel of light rain on his skin.

"I would offer you a cover, but I think you're happy without," Pitch says, and Jack grins up at him.

"I am happy," he says, and pushes up onto his tiptoes to kiss Pitch. Pitch's hands go to his waist and Jack feels deep satisfaction spill through him. When they part, Pitch takes Jack's hand and the leash and leads the way.

They walk along the path, lit by lights in jars just like the one the night of the equinox. It occurs to Jack how strange it is that the candles don't go out in the rain, but when he looks closer he sees that each jar contains a small crystal giving off yellow light. He steps closer to look at one. "What are they?"

"A crystal from the mines in the east of Umbra. They glow in the dark naturally, and a simple spell enhances it. It's one of our biggest exports."

"It's beautiful."

Amongst the trees, twenty feet or so from the ground, there's a string of lights. Not just lights, Jack sees as they get closer. The lights are on a wooden walkway, connecting the trees. It's unlike anything he's ever seen before, otherworldly and ethereal.

There's a staircase winding around the tree, which Pitch leads him up. Jack looks around with wide eyes, feeling like he's stepped into a story.

The walkway ends on a large platform jutting out from the trunk of the tree. A nest of cushions sits under a canopy, protected from the rain, and a circle of the lights surrounds them.

Pitch gestures at the cushions, but Jack shakes his head. "You sit. I want to show you something."

Giving him a curious look, Pitch does as he's bidden, settling on the cushions. He casts off the heavy cloak but keeps the crown. Jack swallows thickly. Considering what he has planned, it's fitting that Pitch continues to wear his crown, a mark of authority - a mark that he's in control. Jack likes that; he needs it.

Breathing deeply, trying to find calm, Jack lifts his hands to his shoulders, to the silver clasps. He opens them and the robe falls to the floor, pooling at his feet. Pitch sits up straighter and looks at him with wide eyes. Beneath the robe, Jack is naked. Before he had made his decision, he already knew that if he did stay, that would be the night that he would let Pitch see him naked. He would cast off all of his doubts, overcome his memories, and let Pitch be the first person to see him like this.

The only thing left is a cord around his waist, with a small vial. Pitch's eyes are still focused on Jack, looking up and down his body as if memorising it.

"Can I touch you?" He asks, and Jack nods, stepping within the circle of lights. Pitch shifts to a kneeling position, and Jack grins at the thought that Pitch is kneeling before his courtesan. "Thank you," Pitch says sincerely. "Amber told me about your reaction when she first tried to dress you. Much as I've desired to see you naked, I wondered if you'd ever be comfortable with that."

"In Lunanoff- before I came here…" Jack trails off, not wanting to think about it. "I was stripped. And I wanted to be sure that I- That we-"

"You don't have to explain," Pitch murmurs, and kisses Jack's hip. "You'll tell me when you're ready. If you tell me now, I'll only want to kill someone, and that might spoil the mood."

Jack laughs. "Just a little."

His hands go to Jack's hips and slowly explore the skin that has previously been hidden from him. Jack watches, fascinated by the way Pitch's grey fingers look against his own pale skin, until the sensation gets too much and his eyes fall shut. Pitch's hands go down his thighs, whispering over the inside and down his calves, resting for a moment on the tops of his feet. Then they trace their way back up, touching the cord at his waist.

"It's-"

Pitch shushes him and continues his exploration, reaching around to cup his ass. He slides his hands over Jack's sides and stomach, up to brush thumbs over his nipples and make him gasp. Taking both of his hands, Pitch pulls him down so that he is sitting astride Pitch's thigh. Even through the robe, Pitch's skin is warm beneath Jack's balls, between his own thighs. When Pitch moves, just a little, the friction takes Jack by surprise and pulls a moan from him.

Pitch leans in and kisses him, sliding his tongue between Jack's lips, brushing gently against his tongue. The kiss is slow and soft, but so intimate. Pitch's hands stroke down Jack's back gently, as though he can't stop touching him.

When he pulls back, he smiles. "You're so beautiful, Jack. Thank you for letting me see you like this."

"I'm your courtesan," Jack says, and there's a flash of emotion in Pitch's eyes at hearing the words. "And this-" He pauses to untie the cord and puts the vial into Pitch's hand. "It's- oil. To- ease the way. I mean-" He groans at stumbling over his words, and gives up at being subtle. "I want your fingers inside me," he says, and it looks like straightforward was the way to go, for Pitch's grin widens.

"Do you now?"

"And more - at some point. But for now. I need to - get used to it."

"You need to take it slowly," Pitch says, and leans in to bite lightly at Jack's neck. "Tell me; have you ever done it to yourself?"

"Yes," Jack says, feeling his cheeks heat up. "But not often."

"And do you like it?"

"Kind of," Jack whispers as Pitch continues to bite at his neck. "It's awkward. The angle - I think the angle will be better if someone else- If you-"

"Oh, it will," Pitch promises, and smiles at him. "I think this is a fitting way to spend our first night together, don't you?"

"That's why I wanted to do this," Jack says, feeling slightly foolish. "To- give you something I've never given to anyone else."

Another of those sweet kisses that touch Jack's heart, and then another, and Jack feels like he is drowning, or floating. But then Pitch's hand slides down Jack's body, to the curve of his ass, and panic spikes in Jack. Will it hurt? And what if Jack does something wrong, or says something foolish?

"Wait," Jack whispers, bowing his head so that it rests on Pitch's forehead.

"We don't have to-"

"No, I want to, I'm just nervous." He licks his lips. "Would- would you-" He groans. Everything was so much easier when he was thinking about it. He was smooth and confident; Pitch knew exactly what he wanted without him having to ask. Lifting his head, inspired, he puts his hands behind his back, wrists together. Pitch's eyes light up in understanding, and he reaches around to circle his fingers around Jack's wrists.

"Is this what you want?" He asks, and Jack nods. "Tell me. Say it."

Jack swallows. Being ordered like that makes it easier. "I want you to bind my wrists."

Pitch gives a pleased noise, like a purr, and releases Jack's wrists, sliding his hands down to rest on Jack's buttocks. Jack tries to move and finds his wrists held together. Twisting, he sees a shadow looping around the rings of his cuffs, and he turns to smile at Pitch.

"Thank you."

"I want you so much," Pitch whispers. "I want to do everything with you. Everything you've never done; things you've never even thought of. I want to make you lose yourself in pleasure. But more than anything, I want to make you happy."

"I want that," Jack says, shivering at the intensity in Pitch's voice.

"Good," Pitch says, and moves one hand to take Jack's leash; the other continues to rest on his ass. "Is that better?"

Jack nods, instantly feeling calmer. All the worries about doing the wrong thing ease and his nerves slip away. He sighs and feels his whole body relax.

"That _is_ better, hmm?" Pitch asks and tugs Jack closer with the leash and kisses him. Jack's eyes fall closed and he lets Pitch take the lead, doing whatever he wants to do.

More slow kisses and Jack relaxes further, deeper, and by the time Pitch pulls back, Jack is smiling, feeling completely calm. He trusts Pitch to look after him.

After a moment of studying Jack, Pitch lets the chain go and it brushes gently against Jack's cock, cool and hard. He moans at the sensation.

With a chuckle, Pitch takes Jack's cock in hand, stroking it, making pleasure dance up Jack's spine. Everything is so _slow_, but in a good way, building and building. With a moan, Jack lets his head fall back, eyes closed, losing himself in the feeling. It continues until Jack's thighs start to shake. Pitch gives a deep chuckle and kisses Jack's neck. He moves back slightly and Jack's eyes open, watching him.

Pitch picks up the small vial and examines it. "Where did you get this from?"

Jack grins, too relaxed to be embarrassed. "I asked Amber for it a few days ago. I didn't know who else to ask but I knew we'd need it so..."

Removing the cork, Pitch drips a little onto his fingers. It's clear and shines in the light. Nervous excitement leaps in Jack's belly and he pulls on the restraints, not wanting to escape, just wanting to know that they're still there.

"If you want me to stop, just tell me," Pitch says, and Jack nods.

"I will."

Reaching around with his other hand, he rests it against Jack's lower back, holding him steady. The hand with oil-slick fingers reaches around lower, thumb and little finger parting his cheeks. Jack gives a choked noise as one finger presses against his hole, not entering, just resting, circling. It feels - good.

"Please," Jack whispers, swallowing. "I- Please."

Pitch smiles, and presses in, just up to the first knuckle. There's a little pain in the stretch, but it's good. Better than when he's done it to himself, not just because of the angle, but because he doesn't need to worry about anything other than enjoying it. Pitch knows what he's doing. Pitch will look after him.

Slowly, carefully watching Jack all the while, Pitch slides in deeper, all the way.

"Good?"

"Good," Jack says shakily, overwhelmed not just by the physical feelings but the knowledge that this is Pitch inside him, that he's made the decision to stay- He pulls on his restraints again and the feeling of being overwhelmed subsides. He just needs to trust Pitch to look after him. That's all he needs to do.

Pitch pulls almost all the way out and then back in, slowly fucking Jack with his finger. Relaxing more and more, any last nerves melt away.

"Another," he whispers, and Pitch smiles, his eyes shining. The hand on Jack's lower back slides around to stroke Jack's cock, and Pitch leans forward to bite at his jaw.

"You're wonderful, Jack," he whispers, and presses another finger in. Jack yelps at the stretch. Pitch's fingers are much bigger than his own, and it burns for a moment; but the hurt fades quickly as his body adapts, getting used to the feeling of being penetrated. Pitch's hand on his cock helps, distracts him from the pain. The strangeness fades too as Pitch slowly fingers Jack, in and out, and Jack feels his orgasm approach, inevitable as sunrise. Part of him wants to ask for another finger but he suppresses it. There'll be time for that later. For now he wants to keep it like this, not too much, not too little.

_Pitch is inside me_. That's the thought that shoves Jack over the edge and he cries out, coming hard. Pitch strokes him through it, keeps fingering him, and the pleasure continues to wash over Jack in waves. He sobs and shakes, feeling happy and overwhelmed, like he can't take any more and he wants everything all at once.

Pitch withdraws his fingers so that he can hold Jack tightly, until he stops shaking. Even then Pitch continues to hold him and Jack relaxes into his arms and smiles, contentment sinking into his core.

Sitting back, he smiles at Pitch and kisses him. "You come too. On me. I want to see it."

"It would be my pleasure," Pitch says, and grins. "I'm going to release your wrists so that you're not lying on them. Do you want me to bind you again?"

Jack nods, and Pitch ties them at the front of Jack's body instead, and then pushes him onto his back.

He moves to take off his crown, but Jack shakes his head. "Leave it. I- I like it."

Pitch grins and scratches his nails lightly down Jack's stomach. "Oh, Jack," is all he says, and the crown stays.

He throws his robe aside and Jack stares up in awe at his naked body. He wants to learn the stories behind each scratch and nick. He wants to touch every inch of him, learn how to make Pitch gasp and moan, how to make him feel so good that he loses all control. And his cock - Jack wants to taste it. Wants to know what it feels like to have it inside him. It might take a while until he's ready, but the thought makes Jack bite his lip.

Pitch straddles Jack's hips and takes the leash in one hand, and his cock in the other. He starts to stroke himself and Jack watches, fascinated. Pitch's strokes are confident and smooth, either taking in the whole length or just the head. All the while he looks down at Jack, desire and possessiveness shining in his eyes.

And then he comes with a cry, his come spurting over Jack's stomach, warm, heavy droplets.

Pitch braces himself on his arms over Jack, breathing heavily, then lowers himself to Jack's side, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and curling up against his body. They lie there like that until Pitch's breathing slows, and he lifts his head.

"Shall I release you?"

Jack nods and when his hands are released, he touches Pitch, sliding his hands down his waist and resting there, enjoying the contact.

They smile at each other, sharing the moment, lost in each other. Jack feels light and happy, more content than he's ever been. It's a perfect moment and Jack smiles and smiles.

"How do you feel?" Pitch asks, looking closely at Jack.

"Like I made the right choice."

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, for your favs and follows and most especially your comments. Please note that this is NOT the end of the fic - there is much more to come! Thanks for reading so far and I hope you stay with me :)


	10. Chapter 10

Jack doesn't want to wake.

Dreamsand-laced sleep is so pleasant, but when Jack finally, reluctantly opens his eyes, Pitch is sitting on the side of the bed smiling down at him.

Worth waking up for, Jack thinks, and smiles back.

"Good morning," Pitch says, leaning down to kiss Jack gently. It's a good start to the day, and Jack gives a small, dissatisfied noise when Pitch pulls away.

It's been three days since Jack's choice and he has been sleeping in Pitch's room since. Waking with a warm body pressed against his own is Jack's new favourite experience.

Today though Pitch is already dressed in a high-collared tunic and trousers - tight trousers, Jack sees, that display his thighs nicely. He reaches out a hand to touch and Pitch gently pushes his hand away.

"None of that. I have to go and meet with my councillors before we leave for Iscadin," Pitch says, stroking Jack's hair absentmindedly. The trip is to meet some ambassadors from Cocor, the country to the east of Umbra. Apparently they come to Iscadin once or twice a year, make preposterous demands, and then leave again, making shallow threats of war. Nothing ever happens, and it sounds like a waste of everyone's time.

"Isn't there even a little time to have some fun?"

"No, or at least not right now. You slept late, Jack."

"You _let_ me sleep late," Jack mutters, slightly petulant, and Pitch throws him an amused smile.

"Oh, my apologies." He stands and offers his hand to Jack, pulling him to his feet. Jack steps closer, and pushes onto tiptoes to kiss Pitch, his hands curling into Pitch's robe to help him balance. Pitch's arms circle his waist and for a moment he lets Jack provide a pleasant diversion.

When he pulls away Jack is tempted to pull him back but he doesn't want to test his luck, not today when he is finally going to see some of the Umbran countryside. "You're very distracting," Pitch murmurs, leaning in to kiss Jack's forehead, like he can't help himself. Jack's glad that hasn't changed with his acceptance of the courtesan role. It had crossed his mind that perhaps Pitch's prior affection had been nothing more than an attempt convince him to stay, but it's as much in evidence as ever.

"I'm fairly sure that's my job," Jack says with a grin.

"True," Pitch says. "And now I must do mine. Amber is waiting in the dressing room. Would you be happy if Onyx came with me, or would you prefer her to stay?"

"Whichever," Jack says, shrugging. "I trust Amber. And when your meeting is over, we leave, right?"

"Eager, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. I've been looking forward to this. I'm going to get to see the city properly, and the river-" He stops, realising how overexcited he sounds, and gives a slightly embarrassed grin.

"I'll do everything I can to make sure that the journey's as good as you hope," Pitch says, and steps back. He says his farewells, with another kiss when he can't stop himself, and leaves.

Jack sighs and stretches before pulling on the nearest bed robe. Pitch's. It's too long for him, and as he goes into the dressing room an excess of black silk trails behind him like stalking shadows.

Amber is facing away from Jack, sorting through a rail of clothes. Her hair is pulled into a high knot and the back of her dress dips low between her shoulder blades, sky blue and gold edging that form a frame for long silvery scars barely visible on her milky skin. Jack gazes at them, feeling a pang of sorrow that she's been hurt so, and hoping ferociously that it wasn't caused by someone from Lunanoff.

"Good morning," he says, and she looks over her shoulder. Her eye, too, Jack thinks - he's so used to seeing the patch now that he thinks of it more as a fashion accessory than an injury, but the thought that someone he knows might have done that to her sits heavy and sour in his stomach. But then she smiles, warm and bright, and it makes Jack's worries clear like morning fog in the midday sun.

"Good morning," she says, picks up a pile of carefully-folded clothes. As she hands them over, she raises an eyebrow and touches his neck, just below his jawline. "You look like you had fun last night."

Jack glances over at the mirror to see what she means. Last night Pitch paid much attention to his neck and shoulder, sucking and biting. He's left evidence in the form of reddish bruises. Grinning and blushing at the same time, Jack touches them. He likes it, a reminder of Pitch's desire for him.

Last night _had_ been fun; he tried to pleasure Pitch with his mouth for the first time, fumbling and awkward and as uncertain as he's ever been, but Pitch seemed to like it well enough and the remembered taste of his come makes Jack bite his lip.

"I'll go and wash, and get dressed," he says. "You're not going to be bored?"

"Not at all. I'll amuse myself wondering what you and the king got up to last night." And that's where Onyx would have interrupted, horrified at Amber's forthrightness. But since she isn't here, Jack's blush deepens and he shakes his head.

"Is that not treason or something? Thinking about the king like that - and his courtesan, for that matter."

"Since he knows that you're not my type, I'm fairly sure it would only appeal to his pride," she says and pats his arm. "Take your time, Jack."

By the time Jack has bathed his hunger is making itself known and he dresses quickly. Navy trews go under a grey-blue robe, open at either side. The belt is embroidered in a silver pattern that echoes his markings. As he looks at his reflection, he decides to do something for Amber. She puts so much effort into making his clothes, but she's far more than just a dresser. Every time that Jack has felt helpless or confused, she has helped him untangle his thoughts and find his calm. She's a true friend. Perhaps when he's learned to use his magic a little, he can make her something from ice.

It shouldn't be long now until his lessons start, and a thrill of excitement skipping through Jack at the thought. Jethryn is researching how best to dim the binding in the collar, and then the teaching can begin.

Back in the dressing room, Amber adjusts his robe and the tie of the belt, and then he's allowed to break his fast.

"Do you have any recommendations for what to see in Iscadin?" Jack asks between bites

of pastry.

"Hmm," Amber says, and ticks the points off on her fingers. "The waterfront at sunset. The harbour during the day, when it's busy - the best place for people watching. Though I doubt the king would let you do that. The royal residence is beautiful as well. If you're going to be there on your own while Pitch is in meetings, have a look around."

The thought of being locked up in yet another room quells his enthusiasm a little. "I'm sure it's beautiful but I'm much more interested in the city. I want to get out and see things, you know?"

Amber looks thoughtful for a moment and then smiles. "Why don't I have a word with the king? I'll be going down there to dress the two of you, and since all my equipment is up here, I won't have much to do during the day. We can go exploring together."

Jack's eyes widen and hope fills him. "Do you think he'll say yes?"

"It's worth a shot, don't you think?"

* * *

Jack spends the entire journey to Iscadin staring out of the carriage at the passing scenery. With Pitch's hand over his shoulders and his warmth by his side, he makes the occasional comment about a passing feature but other than that they sit together and watch the world go by.

From Lunanoff, the world is beautiful but so distant that everything looks the same, green lands and blue seas.

Now Jack looks out at the changing landscapes with awe. Even just this hour long journey to the city reveals meadows and forests, green hills, farmlands golden with ripe corn.

He wants to get out of the carriage and explore all of these wonders, but there'll be time enough for that later. This is home now, Jack thinks with a smile. He has his whole life to explore, if Pitch lets him.

"Did Amber ask if she could take me out into the city today?" Jack asks, tearing his gaze away from the view. Pitch's eyes are as golden as the cornfields, and he smiles down at Jack.

"She did. I said yes."

Delight shimmers through Jack and he kisses Pitch. "Thank you." That had been worrying him. If Pitch hadn't let him go out with Amber, who he obviously trusts, that would be telling of his chances at further freedoms.

Slowly more houses appear as the farmland shifts to city. In the distance, the city looks like a forest, stone and slate replacing leaf and bark.

The carriage skirts the edge of the city, and approaches a tall stone wall with large black gates that are manned by guards in armour more ornate than any Jack has seen in the palace. As they pass through the gates, Jack gets his first glimpse of the royal residence. It's a huge house – probably as large as the palace in Lunanoff – with many windows that glint in the sun.

The carriage comes to a stop before the house and Pitch helps Jack down. He looks around curiously. There is a manicured garden with shaped bushes and cut grass. It is much more organised that the palace gardens; tamer. It's a little disappointing; Jack likes that touch of wildness.

Stone stairs leading up to the main doors are cool under his feet, and as they step inside, Alden is waiting for them. He bows to the king and then smiles at Jack before speaking. "The carriage is waiting to take us to the city hall, Pitch," he says. "We should go over the final details of the meeting on the way."

Annoyance flickers over Pitch's face but he nods. "I'll be down in a few moments," he says, before leading Jack up a set of dark wooden stairs. At the top there is a long corridor; a lone guard waits outside one of the doors. He has slightly different armour to that of the guards in the palace. It's darker and plainer, and his cloak is lined with grey rather than gold. He also doesn't wear a helmet, and Jack can see that the man is older, lowborn, with close-cropped white hair and brown eyes that look at Jack coolly.

"This is Dannel," Pitch says. "He's been the captain of the guard here since I was a boy. If you need anything, just ask him."

Jack smiles up at Dannel. "Good morning," he says, and receives a curt nod in return.

"I'm at your service, courtesan."

Jack opens his mouth to say _call me Jack_ but thinks better of it. Dannel doesn't seem very friendly. Or perhaps he's just proper, as all the guards seem to be. Not a one of them has so much as spoken to Jack so far, so even Dannel's flat reply is an improvement.

Pitch pushes open the door and ushers Jack in to a living room. It's sparsely decorated even for Umbra, only a pair of armchairs and a large bookcase. Jack guesses that Pitch doesn't stay here often, considering his ability to travel through the shadows. Still, Jack's grateful for the offer to stay here tonight. He wants to see as much of Umbra as possible - and to enjoy nights with Pitch in many places, too.

"How many royal residences are there?" Jack asks, turning to Pitch.

"Five."

"Can we stay in them all?"

"If you wish," Pitch says, and looks at Jack curiously. "What's your sudden interest?"

Jack grins and goes over to Pitch, resting a hand on his chest. "Oh, nothing, really. I was just thinking that you could pleasure me in each of them."

Pitch gives a startled laugh and pulls Jack to him. "You have the most wonderful ideas," he says, and kisses him, a hand curling in Jack's hair. Pitch presses his tongue into Jack's mouth, lapping against his, and slides a hand under the slit in Jack's robe to roam over his skin, exploring, and Jack moans as his fingers brush over his nipples.

They're interrupted by a knock at the door and Pitch pulls away with a sigh.

"Alden growing impatient, no doubt." He pulls Jack's robe back into place. "Amber should be here shortly in any case." He leans in to give Jack a gentle kiss and then steps back. "Have a good day."

"You too."

"Doubtful," Pitch says with a sigh and then leaves Jack to wait for Amber.

Jack barely has time to look out of the window before she arrives. She wears a cloak over her dress and has a bundle of clothes in her arms.

"Here," Amber says when Jack lets her in. She slips a tunic over his robe. It's long sleeves cover his markings. She fastens it with a soft leather belt and then pulls a hood over his hair, fastening it in place with a twisted circlet of silver. "There we go. Now no-one will know who you are."

"Are we leaving the carriage?"

"I convinced the king to agree to lunch by the river. I did mention walking around the city, but he said it was too dangerous. He's probably right."

Jack tries to push aside his disappointment. He hadn't really expected to see the city on foot - he hadn't expected to leave the carriage at all, so this is still a pleasant surprise.

"Do you think he'll ever let me walk around the city?"

"I'm sure he will at some point, though probably only when he's with you. The Lord of Shadows can offer a lot more protection than a dressmaker and a single guard."

"I'm pretty sure you could do a good job of protecting me - and there's a lot more to you than just being a dressmaker."

She beams at him and pats his arm. "Ah, you know me too well, Jack. I'm starting to think I should worry about that."

Dannel joins them as they head down to the carriage. Jack's slightly deflated to know that he'll be coming with them, but he pushes it away. The guard is just doing his job.

As the carriage sets off, Jack watches the world pass by until they pull up at a wooden gate. Dannel picks up the picnic basket and Jack tries not to laugh; a fully armoured guard carrying a picnic basket is a little ridiculous. Amber links her arm with his and they follow Dannel through the gate, and down a staircase cut into a hillside. Tall trees on all sides block the view, but when they come back out into the sunlight, Jack stares.

The river is wide, sparkling in the sunlight. To the left it disappears around a bend, but to his right it stretches into the distance until a bridge at the city's edge blocks it from sight. Jack walks closer to the edge and gazes down at the water, shining sliver as it flows by. If the lake in the palace gardens has more water than he had ever imagined, this is almost beyond belief.

"How can there not be enough water for everyone?"

"The river flows from Selena," Amber says, joining him. "It's tainted. There's a lot of water but so little of it is safe to drink. If there was a way to purify it..." She trails off and sighs. "But no-one's found a way."

"There must be a way," he says. "With magic, or _something_."

"This isn't Lunanoff, Jack. Mages are rare here, and almost all of them are shadow mages, nothing that would help. And nothing like this has ever happened before; there are no spells to purify this kind of tainting." She puts a hand on his back. "But it's fading, slowly. Now we're able to offer some of our water - and you helped with that treaty. Even if it's not something you chose, you should still be proud of that."

"I guess," he says, and sighs, feeling dissatisfied with the answer, even though he knows it must be true. People wiser and more learned than him have been trying for centuries to solve the problem of the tainted water to no avail.

Amber leads him away from the water's edge. She lays out the lunch, cheese and meat and fresh bread, on a large blanket, and as Jack sits down to eat, he can't look away from the view. On the far side a small boat passes, its sole occupant looking over at them in disinterest. The trees on all side are bright and vibrant, and the playful wind makes the leaves look like a crackling fire. Soon they will fall and the branches will be dark skeleton fingers reaching up to winter skies. As much as Jack's looking forward to snow and ice, he feels a little sad at the thought of the world losing such beauty.

"Do you want a cloak?" Amber asks, pulling her own around her a little more tightly. "It's getting chilly."

"I'm fine," Jack says. If anything, he's a little too warm in the long sleeves.

"It could be because you're an ice mage. Maybe you won't need any of the cloaks I've designed for you," she says with a sigh. "I've been working on this one, gorgeous black velvet lined with silver, and I was going to embroider so that it looks like it's covered with frost."

"I could still wear it, even if I don't need it," Jack says and then grins at her. "Maybe I could wear it with nothing underneath."

She laughs and claps her hands in delight. "Oh Jack! Pitch will _love_ that! I hope he appreciates his courtesan's genius."

"I think he will when he sees it."

They eat and chat, Dannel standing uncomfortably behind them, shaking his head stoically when Amber offers him some food.

"I used to come here with Onyx," Amber says. "Back when I first started working for the king. When the weather was nice, we'd walk hand in hand into the city along the river."

"You don't do that anymore?"

She shakes her head. "She's first in line to the throne now - third, officially, but..." She trails off. "Things are more complicated now. And it's not exactly a romantic walk when you have guards trailing behind you."

After lunch, they head into Iscadin. The carriage stays on the main streets, the wheels clattering on the wide, cobbled roads. Just as Jack saw from the city hall, there are people everywhere.

"He's from Sinar," Amber says, pointing at a man with feathers edging his cloak.

"Strictly speaking, people aren't supposed to leave Sinar – they view it as the greatest country in the world, so why would you want to leave?"

"What would happen if he was caught?"

"By us? He'd be questioned. As long as he co-operated he'd be fine. But if the Sinarans caught him, who knows? They're so secretive. From the rumours, though, I don't think it would be good."

"So why does he do it?"

"Money speaks loudly," Amber says with a shrug. "Many people here will buy whatever he's brought to trade – furs, minerals, artwork. And the cheapest of goods from Umbra are worth a fortune on the Sinaran black market."

Jack doesn't really understand. There's nothing like that in Lunanoff – or at least not that he knows of, but as he has been realising of late, that means little.

"Oh and they're from Althell." Amber points at a group of tall people with pale gold hair and long white cloaks covered in embroidery. "The first snows will have already come, and this is probably their last chance to trade before the seas start to freeze."

"Wait- the sea freezes?"

"Near the poles. Althell is an island, a few hundred miles northwest of Umbra. It must be so cold there in winter, but they have all kinds of ways the cope with it. Like those cloaks: they look light, but those sigils are part of a spell. No matter how cold it is, the cloak will keep them warm."

And so it goes: Amber points out people and tells him where they're from based on their clothes, but more often than not, his geographical knowledge fails him. He wishes he had a map so that he could work out where everyone is from.

They pass a group of Umbran sailors in smart black uniforms, more of them lowborn than highborn.

"Umbra has the most powerful navy in the world," Amber says. "And the nicest uniforms. Let me tell you, the king looks especially - regal - in his general's uniform."

Jack laughs. "Now why do I get the feeling that when you say _regal_, you mean something else?"

"What can I say? The king and Onyx have a family resemblance. It makes sense that I appreciate him - purely aesthetically, of course. I enjoy looking at Pitch in his uniform; I enjoy getting Onyx out of hers."

Jack laughs harder, and when he sees Dannel's expression he laughs so hard he starts to cough.

The carriage goes past the library, a large pale building lined with elegant columns. As they pass the city hall, Amber points out the statue of Pitch. Only when Jack squints at it does he see a resemblance. Pitch said that the statues look more handsome, but Jack far prefers the real thing.

The sky is growing dark by the time they return to the royal residence. Pitch still hasn't returned, so Jack joins Amber in her rooms for dinner before retiring.

When he's alone, he goes to his travelling trunk and withdraws a book.

He asked Monty for this the day after he'd made his decision, and he thought that Monty would never stop blushing. _It's my duty as a courtesan_, Jack had said, though that had only served to add a stammer to the blush.

It is a book for courtesans, just as the other books that Monty has provided, but this one is far more explicit. It is a manual for pleasure, fully illustrated. It covers everything Jack has thought of, and things he's never even imagined. He's fascinated by it.

He opens it to the section about the different ways to give pleasure with the mouth. It lists many techniques, but Jack decides to concentrate on the simplest. It is what he tried the night before, and he can only improve with practice. As he looks at the pictures he feels his body starting to respond and his mind wanders, imagining doing it to Pitch, remembering the night before. Nerves accosted him then, but tonight he can do better, he's sure of it.

A slamming door startles him out of his thoughts. He waits, but no-one comes into the room. Putting the book down on the table, he goes to investigate.

Opening the door, he hears a low thumping from one of the rooms below.

"What is that?" Jack asks, glancing at Dannel, standing guard on the corridor.

"The king. I don't think the discussions went well."

"I'm going to go see him," Jack says, and shrugs off Dannel's protests.

Following the sounds, Jack finds his way to a room on the ground floor and opens the door. It's a training room, and Pitch is throwing punches at a heavy leather bag hanging from the ceiling. He has cast off his robe and is topless, wearing only the tight black trews. Completely focused, he hasn't noticed Jack in the doorway, so Jack leans against the jamb and watches.

Pitch is fast and agile, strong and skilled. His punches are focused jabs, seeming to hit exactly where he means them to. He would be a fierce opponent, Jack thinks, and he is obviously angry, taking out his rage on the punching bag. Jack is startled when the room starts to get darker, and for the first time wonders if it's a good idea to spy on Pitch. He doesn't declare himself immediately, instead watching as Pitch's frown deepens and the room lightens again as he reclaims control over the shadows. He focuses on the bag, hitting again and again, and his skin is covered with a sheen of sweat. Jack swallows. Already half-hard from looking at the manual, seeing Pitch train is most appealing.

Before Jack can call out, Pitch notices him and grabs the swinging bag, holding it still and breathing heavily. Pitch just looks at him and Jack steps into the room, grabbing a towel from a table.

"I'm guessing things didn't go so well," Jack says, starting to wipe Pitch down, though he can't help but let his fingers trail over the muscles of Pitch's arms and stomach.

"They did not," Pitch says, moving to pick up his robe where it lies in a heap at the side of the room. "I thought I should work off a little of my anger before coming to see you."

"Do you want to talk about it? I probably won't know anything you're talking about but I'm happy to listen."

Pitch kisses Jack softly. "Thank you but no. It'll only anger me again. I'm going to bathe."

"Can I come with you?"

Pausing, Pitch smiles. "Most certainly."

The bath is a smaller version of the one in Pitch's rooms at the palace, though still easily large enough for the two of them. Tiny flowers float on the surface – lavender, Jack thinks. There are no servants, as is PItch's preference, so they wash each other; and if Jack's hands linger a little too long on Pitch's cock there are no complaints.

Since Pitch doesn't want to talk about his day, Jack talks about his. As Pitch listens, he seems to relax. The tension in his shoulders eases and he smiles when Jack mentions lunch by the river.

"My father used to take me sailing on the river when I was a boy. I always tried to help. I was never terribly good at it but it made me feel very grown up."

"I'd love to go sailing," Jack says with a sigh, and Pitch kisses his temple.

"Then we will."

When they are both dry and wrapped in fresh bed robes, they return to the living room. Only when Pitch pauses, looking down at the table, does Jack realise that he left the book out. He covers his embarrassment with a grin. "I thought since I wasn't too good last night, I better study."

"Not too good?" Pitch shakes his head and walks over to Jack, taking both hands in his own. "Jack, let me assure you, it _was_ good, very good. Though it's very nice to see that you want to please me so much that you're willing to study for me."

"Some things are worth studying for," Jack says with a shrug as nonchalant as he can make it, and pulls Pitch away from the book. "Maybe I can practice?"

"I would be happy to help with your studies, Jack," Pitch says with a smirk and kisses Jack, far too soft and sweet for the way he also slides a hand under Jack's robe and brushes long fingers over his cock. "Perhaps I could also advise you?"

The thought of Pitch instructing him makes Jack's mouth dry and he nods wordlessly.

Smirking, Pitch shrugs off his robe and sits in the nearest chair. He beckons Jack over, grabs the collar of his robe and pulls him in for a kiss.

"On your knees."

Part of Jack wants to say _I know that much_ but most of him just want to do anything Pitch asks of him. He sinks down to his knees between Pitch's legs. He watches as Pitch strokes himself into hardness. His cock is so much bigger than Jack's own. Thicker too, with a slight curve upwards. Watching takes Jack the rest of the way to hard, but he doesn't touch himself. He wants to take care of Pitch first. Touching himself will only distract himself from that.

Fully hard now, Pitch wraps a hand around the base of his cock, pulling the foreskin back, and gestures at it. "Start by licking."

Leaning forward to do as he's told, Jack's heart hammers in his chest. He slides his tongue across the head of Pitch's cock, the scent of the lavender from their bath filling his nose.

"That's good, Jack," Pitch says as Jack continues to lick, confidence growing with every second. Being told what to do helps - he doesn't need to worry about doing the wrong thing. "And the shaft. Top to bottom. Get me nice and wet." Pitch sighs and Jack's cock aches. He ignores it. "Now lick your lips - that's right - and take the head in your mouth. Lick it, slide your lips over it – that's it. That lip ring is so cold – gods it feels good." He's starting to breathe heavily now, and he gives a choked moan when Jack looks up at him with a mouthful of cock. Thinking back to what Pitch has done in the past, he slides his tongue over the slit. That makes Pitch curse, in a good way, and he lets his head fall back, mouth open as he breathes heavily. His reactions are very encouraging, and Jack lifts a hand to hold Pitch's cock, on top of where Pitch is holding it, and strokes as he works.

"Now try - try and take a little more into your mouth," Pitch says in a shaking voice. "As much as you can."

Licking his lips, Jack does, going slowly and breathing through his nose. When it hits the back of his throat he winces and pulls back, gasping.

"A little too much?" Pitch asks, stroking Jack's hair.

"Uh huh," Jack says, wiping at his watering eyes.

"If you want to stop-"

"No! Not at all! I'm so _hard_, just from doing this to you. I definitely don't want to stop."

Leaning in again he goes more slowly this time, taking another inch in his mouth before pulling away, then taking another inch. This time he stops before it hits the back of his throat, bobbing his head like Pitch does when he uses his mouth on Jack. Pitch becomes more and more vocal, making Jack's own cock throb. His hand clenches in Jack's hair, not directing, just holding, like he needs the extra contact.

And then Pitch comes with a cry, spilling onto Jack's tongue. He's still not sure he likes the taste but it's proof of his success and he laps at it hungrily, swallowing down every drop.

As Pitch catches his breath, the hand in Jack's hair unclenches and starts to stroke instead. Jack smiles, feeling accomplished.

"Come here," Pitch murmurs, shifting in the chair and beckoning Jack to him. Jack stands and lets Pitch pull him into his lap. It means that they are close, very close, and Jack smiles. He's still hard and part of him is desperate for release, but another part of him is happy to stay like this, safe and wanted in Pitch's arms.

He listens to Pitch's breathing slow, matching his own, in and out.

"That was wonderful, Jack."

"Better than last night?"

Pitch nods. "Last night was good but this was incredible."

"Just think what I could do with a little more practice," Jack says, grinning. "I could try on the way back, in the carriage - or in other places in the palace. I think I'd really like to do it while you're sat on your throne. On my knees, looking up at you. With you wearing your crown."

Pitch stares at him and a grin grows very slow, very wicked. He curls a finger around the ring of Jack's collar and pulls him forward for a kiss. "I think I would like that very much."

Swallowing thickly, Jack is very aware of how hard he is, of how much he wants to come.

"I have something I want to give you," Pitch says suddenly, and Jack blinks.

"A gift?"

Pitch nods, and gently pushes Jack to his feet. Taking Jack's hand, he leads him into the bedroom.

He takes something from his trunk – a wooden box and a vial of oil. Putting the box on the bed and the oil on the nightstand, Pitch sits on the bed and gestures at the box. Jack looks at it, and then back to Pitch; his naked body is far more interesting.

"Maybe we could have a little fun, first," Jack suggests, pushing the box out of the way and leaning over to kiss Pitch. The distraction succeeds for a moment; Pitch slides Jack's bed robe down to spread kisses and gentle bites down his neck and over his shoulders. But after only a few moments, Pitch sits back and grins at Jack.

"You really should look at your gift," Pitch says. "I promise that it will be fun."

Jack blinks, annoyance pulsing through him, but there's curiosity there as well. Even when sated, Pitch has never been ignorant of Jack's needs. What could be in this box that is so important? He might as well look. The sooner he does, the sooner they can return to more interesting things. He pulls the box onto his knees. It's made from a dark wood, completely plain save for the silver hinges and lock. It's weightier than it looks. Jack glances up at Pitch who merely smiles at him.

"Open it," he says, and Jack does. The tiny key turns with a satisfying click. Inside, nestled in navy satin, are two metal objects that Jack doesn't recognise. One is long and slender; the other shorter and bulbous, tapering off and ending in a wide ring. He picks it up, finds that it's heavy and smooth, but there's nothing to indicate its function.

"I give up. What are they?"

Pitch's grin is _wicked_ in a way that makes Jack's dick throb. "They're toys, made especially for you. Since you've enjoyed having my fingers inside you but aren't yet ready for my cock, I thought perhaps you might enjoy these toys. They'll help you get used to having something inside you."

Jack's eyes widen and his cheeks burn at the same time as a grin curves his lips. He looks back down at the thing in his hand. "This - they're to go inside me?" The idea is both thrilling and a little scary - they're both bigger than the two fingers Pitch has had inside him so far; the longer one is about the same size as Jack's own cock.

"Only if you want to," Pitch says. "If you don't-"

"I'd like to try. I just- I've never-" He gives up and looks back down at the box, picking up the other toy. Now that he knows what it is, it seems obvious. It's smooth and featureless, but the general shape can only be described as phallic.

"So you like it?"

"Let's try it and I'll let you know," Jack says with a flash of a smile. Tugging open his belt, he shrugs the robe off his shoulders and throws it to the floor. Pitch gives a sharp intake of breath, desire blazing in his eyes. He reaches to stroke Jack's cock, very slowly, very gently, and Jack sighs, smiling. He puts the toy back in the box and lets himself fall back onto the bed, putting his hands behind his head and watching Pitch's hand on him, moving slowly at first, firm strokes up and down the shaft. He strokes his thumb over the head and Jack groans at the sudden spike in intensity. Little by little Pitch increases pressure and speed, building the pleasure slowly.

"Let's get into a better position," Pitch says, and Jack lets Pitch move him so that his head is resting on the pillows. After grabbing the bottle of oil, Pitch hooks one of Jack's legs over his shoulder. When he pulls the box over to him, panic spikes in Jack - _what if I don't like it, what if it hurts, Pitch will be angry with me-_

"Do you want me to bind you?" Pitch asks, and Jack nods gratefully. "Then let's try something a little different." He reaches up and folds Jack's arms over his chest rather than connecting the cuffs like he usually does. "Remember what I said about the shadows having all kinds of uses? I can use them like rope, too. Do you want that?"

"Yes," Jack whispers. "Please."

Soundless, the shadow-ropes slide around him, featherlight, tickling touches over his skin. They wrap around his wrists and forearms, under and over. Rope across his chest and around his biceps complete the binding. He can hardly feel the shadows against his skin; they're as ephemeral as his lightest robe, yet when he tries to move they are as secure as any rope would be. He lets out a shaky breath and the last of his nerves slip away, leaving him feeling warm and relaxed. Pitch will look after him.

"Good?" Pitch asks, reaching out to stroke Jack's arms, skipping over the shadow-ropes.

"Good," Jack breathes, and smiles up at him, sinking down deeper into the warmth. "Good."

"I'm going to start with my fingers," Pitch tells him. "Open you up."

Jack nods, closing his eyes so that he can concentrate on the feeling of Pitch's hands on him. He gasps as he feels an oil-slick finger against his hole, and then moans low and long as it presses inside. There's a little pain but it quickly dissolves as his body adapts. Pitch slowly moves in and out, his other hand stroking Jack's cock. Coming from so many different points - the finger inside him, the hand on his cock, the ropes holding him tight – the pleasure builds quickly. Jack lets out a shaking breath, wondering if he will even be able to hold on for the toy.

"Another," he whispers, and hears Pitch give a silky chuckle.

"Oh Jack," he says. "You love this, don't you? When we're back in the palace perhaps we'll try real rope. You look so beautiful."

Jack smiles without opening his eyes, and arches his back as he feels another finger press into him. The stretch burns a little longer this time but the payoff is better. He gasps with each thrust of Pitch's fingers into him, slowly getting harder and faster until Jack doesn't think he can take much more - which is when Pitch pulls away.

"Come back," Jack whines, but when he opens his eyes he sees that Pitch has picked up the smaller toy. He stares for a moment as Pitch drips the oil onto the shiny surface, fear and excitement coiling in his belly.

Pitch looks down at him for a long moment, searching, and then smiles. "You want this, don't you?" Jack nods, eager. "It will probably hurt a little at first, but try to relax. I want you to feel good. If you don't like it, tell me. Alright?"

"Alright." He can feel his heartbeat in his throat as he nods.

Shifting Jack's leg on his shoulder, Pitch presses the other slightly wider and lowers his hand. Jack closes his eyes again and gasps, startled at how cold the toy is. And then it is pressing into him, solid, _stretching_, quickly wider than Pitch's fingers. It does hurt, and Jack bites his lip, it _hurts_, more as it presses deeper and gets wider, but the pleasure increases too, until Jack feels dizziness from switching between the two, trying to decide if it hurts or feels good or if it's both.

He makes a thin mewling noise, feeling overwhelmed by all the sensation - and then the pain eases. He feels a coolness against his buttock and realises that it's inside him, all the way, and the flat ring is what he can feel against his skin. Breathing ragged, he feels full, the weight of the toy heavy inside him.

"How does it feel?" Pitch asks, and all Jack can do is gasp and nod. He doesn't have words for how it feels, especially not when Pitch starts to stroke him again, slow strokes that make Jack shiver, make his muscles clench and become more aware of the toy inside him. He whimpers, and the more Pitch strokes his cock, the more aware he is of how full he is, that he has something inside him, that he'll have Pitch's cock inside him soon-

That thought is like striking a match and Jack comes, with a gasp that becomes a cry when coming makes his muscles clench hard around the toy, cold and heavy and smooth and strange inside him. Pitch strokes him through it and Jack gasps and whimpers and shakes, feeling like his brain is full of stardust, everything else blown away by the force of his climax.

"It's alright," Pitch murmurs, kissing Jack gently and sliding a hand around his waist. "It's alright Jack, I'm here."

"Unbind me," Jack whispers, and in an instant the shadows are gone. He pulls Pitch close to him, digging his nails into his back, needing to be held, needing to hold and make sure Pitch is here, keep him here. All the while Pitch murmurs comforting things that make Jack smile, _wonderful, Jack, you were so good_, and Jack slowly spirals down from the high point to a place of deep relaxation.

As the overwhelming feelings fade away, the toy inside him is a pleasant weight. Jack wonders about wearing it like this, perhaps letting Pitch put it inside him one morning and waiting patiently for him to return from his meetings. The thought makes him giggle but he stifles it, pressing his face against Pitch's neck.

"I'm going to clean you up," Pitch tells him, planting a kiss on his forehead and Jack nods, missing him the instant he's gone. But he's back in only a moment with a warm towel, cleaning up the mess on Jack's stomach and in the dark thatch of hair around his cock, warning him before he takes the toy out. Jack winces at the spike of pain, but it only lasts a moment and then he sighs, missing the feeling of fullness. Pitch moves again to clear everything off the bed and then he lies by Jack's side, tugging the sheets over them.

Jack curls up against him, smiling at him. "I liked that," he whispers, and Pitch chuckles.

"I could tell." He kisses Jack softly. "I love making you feel good," he says, stroking Jack's cheek. "I love watching you shiver, and the way your whole body tenses up before you come. I love tying you up and giving you everything you ask for."

"I love that you give me what I ask for." It's supposed to be light, joking, but a twist of emotion is threaded through it. He's never had anyone care for him like this, lavishing him with attention, affection, pleasure. It makes him so happy but it also scares him. Now that he has it, he's afraid of losing it; the more affection he gets, the stronger the fear gets.

"I will always will," Pitch says, holding Jack closer. "You're my courtesan. It's my job to make you happy."

"I thought it was _my_ job to make _you_ happy?"

"They're both true," Pitch says, and kisses Jack.

Feeling safe and content, Jack settles in Pitch's arms and closes his eyes.

* * *

"Your father never wanted you, you know."

Jack blinks. Ben's voice. He feels woozy and slow, and he turns carefully, unsteady on his feet.

Ben is a few feet away, beaming at him. They two of them are standing in a small circle of golden light. Beyond is nothing but darkness.

"I know," Jack says, the words like cotton in his mouth.

"Do you?" Ben chuckles. "I suppose he did always make it obvious. Not a subtle man, your father. It made it easy for me to suggest this to him, though." Ben reaches over to tap Jack's collar, and Jack jerks back, the thought of being touched by the man who betrayed him making him feel ill.

His movement takes him to the edge of the light, and a high chittering, more felt than heard, makes him jerk forward again.

"Oh yes. I'd be careful if I were you. I'm still not quite sure how all this works, and I don't know what those things are, but I'd avoid them if I were you."

There's nothing to be seen in the darkness, but fear creeps over Jack's skin like a physical thing, making him itch.

"In any case, you suit being a slave. Not really a surprise - you were never much good for anything else."

Even dazed and afraid, Jack glares at Ben. "You know nothing about it. That's not what a courtesan is. And you know nothing about me, either."

"I know that you're as stupid as the rest of your family. And I know that you're exactly where I want you." He smiles, looking pleased with himself. "I'm so glad this worked! it's always good when things go to plan. Oh, and before I forget: Marek told me how worried you were about your little friend. Here's an update: he's in jail again, and nothing Marek does is going to get him out this time. He's not the only one, either. They're running out of space to put them all - it's chaos! It's a wonderful thing to see."

"What- what are you talking about?" The chittering from the darkness gets louder and Jack looks around wildly, terror spiking at the sound.

"It doesn't really matter," Ben says. "After all, this is just a dream. And you're about to wake up."

* * *

Jack jerks awake, heart racing and fear spreading through him like a fever. Within seconds the details of the dream - something to do with Ben - melt away but the fear remains, choking him. He sits up, breathing hard, pulling his knees into his chest and resting his forehead on them, willing himself to calm down.

"Jack?" In the little moonlight that sneaks past the thick curtains, Jack sees Pitch sit up. The warm, comforting weight of Pitch's hand on his back forces some of the fear to retreat, and Jack sighs, curling into Pitch's arms.

"Just a bad dream," Jack says, his voice muffled against Pitch's skin.

"We didn't bring any dreamsand," Pitch says, and curses. "I'm sorry, Jack. I was going to bring the vial I keep on my nightstand-"

"No, I should have thought-"

"Jack," Pitch interrupts, hand tightening slightly on the back of Jack's neck. "You are my courtesan. Just as it's my job to make you happy, it's my job to protect you as well. Whether that's from someone wanting to hurt you, or from bad dreams. If I don't do that, I'm failing you."

Jack wants to argue - he's not helpless, he's perfectly capable of picking up a vial. As shaken as he is, it's just one bad dream. But it's not worth arguing over, and in truth all he wants is for Pitch to hold him until the last of the fears leave him. They can argue about overprotectiveness some other time, when Jack isn't aching for comfort.

"I can go through the shadows and get some if you like," Pitch says, but Jack shakes his head. It's more important that he's not alone.

"No. Just- just hold me until I fall asleep."

It takes a long time, but slowly Jack relaxes in Pitch's arms, and drifts into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

After a day of sightseeing in the city with Pitch and the journey back, it's almost a disappointment to step back into his own rooms, especially when Pitch is leaving straightaway.

"Do you really have to go to another meeting?" Jack asks, arms tightening around Pitch. "We've only just got back."

"I know, but I'm meeting with the person that I want to be your bodyguard."

Jack looks up, wide-eyed. "You've decided? Who is it? Do I know them?"

"Patience, Jack," Pitch says. "I'll be back in a few hours. You can wait until then, I'm sure."

When he's gone, Jack paces, wondering who it is. Not that he's likely to know them, even if they work in the palace. Maybe it's Amber. That would be fun. Or Monty, though Jack wonders if he'd be up for climbing trees. He could be convinced, though, Jack thinks and grins.

A bodyguard so that he isn't cooped up in his rooms, and he'll be starting magic lessons with Jethryn next week. Things are looking up.

He ends up napping and is woken by a knock at the door. He sits up, yawning, as Pitch comes in. A smile skips over Pitch's lips as he comes over to sit next to Jack, adjusting the clips that Jack's impromptu nap knocked askew.

"Do I really need to look pretty for this bodyguard?" Jack mutters, but Pitch breathes a laugh and stands, pulling Jack to his feet.

"Of course not, but an out of place hair clip isn't going to make you not look pretty. I don't think anything could do that."

"I'm going to start to think you only want me for me looks."

"There are _many_ reasons I want you, Jack." The heat in Pitch's voice makes Jack grin, and cocks an eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm sure - my ass, my mouth, my legs-"

"Your wit, your intelligence, your curiosity," Pitch corrects, and all the mockery leaks from Jack, leaving only sweetness and gratitude in its place "Of course I find you physically attractive, but it's who you are that makes me ache for you."

A blush burns into Jack's cheeks and he offers Pitch a weak smile. "You keep saying stuff like that and I'm going to swoon. Not the best first impression for the bodyguard."

Not bothering to hide his amusement, Pitch nods. "Very well. But I'll remember that the way to win your affection is with the truth."

"You already have my affection," Jack says softly, not really meaning to; but when Pitch's eyes widen and his expression softens, he's glad he did. He pulls Jack into his arms and kisses him, softly, sweetly, like he's precious, like he's _important_, and Jack's starting to think that maybe he is.

They're interrupted by a knock at the door, and both of them seem to remember why they're here. They share a smile and then Pitch touches Jack's cheek, a last tender gesture before going to answer. There's a promise in it of more later.

When Pitch answers the door, a highborn man steps into the room. He's young, only a handful of years older than Jack. Tall, but much broader than any other highborn Umbran that Jack's seen. The power in his muscular shoulders and arms is obvious at a glance, a contrast to Pitch's slender strength.

"This is Kal," Pitch says, leading him over to Jack.

"I'm pleased to properly meet you at last," Kal says with a warm smile, and Jack is stuck by a sense of familiarity, though he can't say where he's seen him. And then it clicks.

"You're my guard!"

"Was," Kal corrects with a grin. "I wondered how long it would take you to work that one out. I look a little different without the helmet."

"Kal is Alden's son," Pitch says. "I've known him for many years, and he's both trustworthy and capable."

"Thank you, your highness," Kal says, bowing his head, and then turns to Jack. "After a month of not even being able to say good morning, I'm looking forward to finally getting to know you."

Jack blinks, startled by the difference from the silent guard and easy-going man sat before him. He's a surprising choice. Jack had been sure his bodyguard would be someone like Dannel, serious, no-nonsense. Boring.

"Kal will be escorting you when Onyx and I are unavailable," Pitch says. "He's responsible for your wellbeing, and will protect you to the death if necessary."

Jack laughs and steps closer to Pitch so that he can link their fingers. "Come on, Pitch. How much danger are we really going to find in the palace gardens?"

"None, I hope. But if you do need protecting, Kal will be there."

"I've already been protecting you," Kal says, and then pauses. "Although there's not been anything to protect you from so far, except maybe boredom - but I think that's my main job now - making sure you don't get bored. But I already have a plan. Come on, I'll show you." He heads over to the balcony and waves for Jack to follow him.

Stepping outside, Jack sees that the day has not cleared. Everything is grey, and a thick fog has settled over the world. Kal points at the trees, barely visible.

"This probably isn't the best time to show you this, but there are these incredible caves over there-"

"I know, I've seen them."

Kal's mouth opens and then his shoulders round in defeat. "What!? That was going to be my big opening number, you know? Something to really impress you, convince you that I'm the best man for the job."

Jack pauses - he's not sure he gets any say in the matter. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay. it's just, being a guard is great, better than the military anyway. But it's still so - stifling, you know? Showing you around the gardens sounds like a much better job - far more _me_. So it's important that I impress you."

"I'm sure there are plenty of other interesting things you can show me. Onyx showed me the caves a few weeks ago."

Instantly a blush leaps to Kal's cheeks. "Oh. Well. If it was Onyx. That's okay then. That's fine."

Jack looks up at him in amusement. "Do you have a little crush, there?"

"No! Of course not!" Kal's blush deepens. "She's just- She's-" He shakes his head mutely, and Jack's grin widens. "Anyway," Kal says, ignoring Jack's grin. "There are definitely other things to see. What kind of things do you like?"

"I want to see everything. This place is incredible. Me and Onyx climbed a tree. That was pretty fun."

Kal's eyes light up. "So you like a little fun? I can do fun. Let's see: there are waterfalls down near the cliffs. It's a really nice hike this time of year; but in winter they freeze, and ice climbing is definitely fun-" He pauses and grins at Jack, before adding in a whisper, "If we do that, it's our secret, right? The king doesn't need to know."

"Right," Jack whispers, feeling the long-dormant thrill of not following the rules kindling in him.

"There's a rope walk through the trees," Kal says, pointing to things hidden by the fog. He lists things that are listed on Jack's map, and things that aren't, and with each suggestion a bar of Jack's cage seems to dissolve and the cool wind on his skin feels like freedom.

The door behind them opens, and Pitch looks at Kal coolly. "Your father will want to go over the details of your new role," he tells Kal, who bows and throws Jack a grin before he leaves.

Jack smiles at Pitch, and goes over to kiss him. "Thank you. This is going to make me feel so much better."

"I hope so," Pitch says. "I thought that Kal would be a good fit for you - he's closer to your age, friendly. Because he grew up here, he knows the place as well as anyone, except perhaps myself and Onyx." He pauses. "Onyx told me about the tree climbing. Kal doesn't have any way of protecting you as Onyx does, so there will be no more of that."

"I don't fall-"

"No, Jack.

The flat refusal, not a hint of a chance for compromise, rankles Jack and he frowns.

"Then this is still a cage, isn't it? You said-"

"I said that you could have someone who would accompany you in the gardens, not that you could risk breaking your neck with foolishness." Pitch's words are sharp but the flash of fear in his eyes makes Jack swallow down his retort. Pitch isn't doing this to cage him; he's doing this to protect him. After what happened to Karine and Seraphina while they were doing something that was supposed to be safe, no wonder he's a little protective.

_Give it time_, Jack tells himself. If he proves to Pitch that he's safe, and that Kal is looking after him, he might change his mind.

"It's just-" He tries to think of how to make Pitch understand. "At home, one of my favourite things was running along the rooftops with my friend. And- I miss that. That's what I think of when I think of freedom."

"The roofs are taller here, Jack," Pitch says. "I just want you to be safe. If anything happened to you-" He cuts himself off and shakes his head.

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Jack says, and takes Pitch's hands in his. "I won't do anything dangerous."

Relief is stark on Pitch's face, and he bows his head so that their foreheads touch. "I know you think I'm being overprotective," he says. "But I can't lose you, Jack. I can't."

"I'm not going anywhere," Jack tells him. "You're stuck with me now."

"Good," Pitch murmurs, his arms going around Jack tightly.

Eventually Pitch's embrace eases. He breathes in deeply, collecting himself, and then leads Jack into the room, where they settle onto the chaise longue. Pitch's arm goes around his shoulders as though he can't bear to not be touching Jack. A smile tugs at the corner of Jack's lips; for all that it's suffocating, it's sweet as well.

"I have something for you," Pitch says, reaching into a pocket.

"I doubt it can be as good as the last gift," Jack says, and Pitch smiles.

"Perhaps not." He presses something into Jack's hand. It's a tiny vial of dreamsand, a third the size of Jack's little finger. A silver ring is attached to the lid. "It's to go on your necklace, with the moon pendant, so that you always have some with you."

Jack closes his fingers around the vial and he smiles. "Thank you," he says, and kisses Pitch, the last of his annoyance slipping away. Pitch's generosity and affection more than make up for his overprotectiveness.

In time, Jack is sure that Pitch will ease his grip on him.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I've been ill, and also I have a job interview tomorrow that I've been preparing for (wish me luck!). Normal schedule will resume this week :) As ever, thank you so very much for the comments and favs, they keep me going.


	11. Chapter 11

Magic training is not quite as exciting as Jack had hoped.

For two weeks now all Jethryn has taught him is how to breathe, which is something Jack was quite the expert at before.

Once more, Jack is sitting cross-legged in a courtyard, the stone hard under his buttocks and ankles, listening jealously to Jethryn's even breathing. Sometimes he manages to get a relaxed state, concentrating on his own breathing, but then a thought will tug at him like a fish hook, cutting his concentration to distracted ribbons.

_It comes with practice_, Jethryn has said, but Jack doesn't want to practice. He itches to reach deep within and touch his magic, to let it spill through his fingers. He _doesn't_ want to sit here and do nothing but concentrate on his breathing.

He sighs and Jethryn opens his eyes to look at him calmly.

"You started off this morning very well. For almost twenty minutes you managed to keep up the meditation."

"I'm not doing so well now."

"I know it's difficult, Jack, but it gets easier-"

"With practice. I know. You've said."

Jethryn continues to look at him. He seems to have an infinite well of calm. That almost makes Jack want to do what he says – if he continues to meditate like this, will he find that sort of calm? Will it soothe his raging thoughts and the anger and grief that constantly try to burst forth from the walls he's put up around them? But it's _hard_.

"You've been practicing. You've been improving. And you're going to keep improving as long as you keep practising. With magic like yours, you need to be able to listen, and you're not going to be able to do that if all you can hear is yourself."

Jack's hands clench into fists where they rest on his knees. "I can hear the wind – almost."

"If you still your thoughts you'll be able to sense other things. The wind is active. You hear it because it's like an overexcited child wanting to play, demanding your attention. But you should be able to sense the water in the air. The heaviness of the clouds before rain. You're an ice mage; all of these things tie into that, and you need to know them to control them."

"It would be a lot easier if my magic wasn't bound."

"The binding does effect that," Jethryn concedes. "But it's not the only thing. Your thoughts and emotions are too raw – they're deafening. I can practically hear them."

Jack's eyes narrow. "You can read my thoughts?"

Jethryn smiles now, a cheeky little thing that startles Jack. He's used to him being so calm and still that the emotion seems out of place. "No, which it probably for the best. The king has been much more relaxed lately, and I imagine your thoughts are just _full_ of the reason why."

His tone makes it quite clear that he's talking about what Pitch and Jack are getting up to in the bedroom, and Jack feels heat spill into his cheeks. Are people around the palace talking about this? He doesn't mind Amber joking about it, people he knows, but thinking that people he's never even met are talking about them makes him feel a little uncomfortable.

"I can see your aura," Jethryn continues. "It's how I knew how strong your magic was, and it's also how I know how turbulent your thoughts are. This will help, Jack. I know it seems difficult at the minute-"

"It doesn't feel difficult, it feels impossible." Jack groans and falls backwards onto the stone and stares up at the clouds.

"How about this: you keep trying for another week, and if you improve, I'll loosen the binding a little."

Jack pushes himself up onto his elbows to look at Jethryn. "One week?"

"If you improve."

"You trying to bribe me?"

Jethryn laughs. "If that's what it takes."

Jack pushes himself back up and crosses his legs. "Alright. Let's try this again."

The bribe works. His determination means that he _listens_ to Jethryn when he tells him to let the thoughts go instead of letting them cling to him; that he doesn't berate himself for having these thoughts.

He breathes in, concentrating on where his breath begins; and out, feeling where the breath ends. He sinks deeper into the meditation, and when Jethryn calls an end to their lesson, Jack is startled at how quickly the time has passed.

"So when you loosen the binding," Jack says, "Will I be able to make it snow?"

"I don't think so."

"I want to see snow," Jack says, feeling a little dejected.

"You will - it should only be a few weeks until the first snows. And it would be better to wait until you see it happen naturally before trying anything of your own."

"And where's the fun in that?" Jack asks, a little grumpy.

"Magic's not supposed to be _fun_," Jethryn starts, and then pauses, offering Jack a smile. "But it is. Difficult, but fun. More than worth all of these dull lessons."

"Yeah," Jack says, feeling the wind on his skin. "I guess it will be."

* * *

Jack's feeling relaxed by the time Kal comes to collect him.

"Do you mind if we go to the library?" Jack asks, and Kal makes a face.

"The library? Seriously?"

"I know, I know. But I want to speak to my friend, the assistant librarian. You know him?"

"The little blond guy?"

"That's the one."

"If you want," Kal says, shrugging. He's even less interested in books than Jack is. Whereas Jack's problem with books is that they've been responsible for him having to learn incredibly dull – and often incorrect, he's now discovering – lessons, Kal has trouble with reading. He says that it's almost like the letters shift on the page, so that what he sees is different to what Jack sees. It doesn't seem to bother him too much - he can read, given time, but he prefers listening. Talking, too. Over the past few weeks, he's told Jack some of his favourite stories, acting out each of the characters, with different voices and body language. He's let Jack join in with characters of his own, and they've been reweaving some old tales and making them uniquely theirs.

As they make their way to the library, the corridors grow narrower. Jack doesn't even need to straighten his arms to touch the walls. Jack's never seen anything like it in the palace here; perhaps the rooms to the side have expanded, squeezing the corridor. It's still tall though, and the ceiling is lost in shadows. They turn, and the next corridor has one long line of gold running along the line at waist height, unmarked and shining, like a ray of sunlight leading to the library. At the end are tall doors and through them-

Books. Books and books and books, stretching in every direction until the dim light swallows them up. Where there are gaps between the tall shelves shafts of sunlight break up the gloom, filled with playful dust motes. The silence is heavy, and it stops Jack from calling out. Instead he walks along one of the walls of books, trailing his fingers along them and enjoying the different textures under his fingers.

"Can I help you?" The voice is thin as old paper, and nothing about it suggests a willingness to help. Jack turns and sees a highborn Umbran in a heavy-looking black robe, the only decoration a silver buckle on his belt. His forehead is creased from years of too much frowning, and he's frowning now.

"I- I'm Jack-"

"I know who you are," the man says, his upper lip twitching into a sneer. "But I don't know what you're doing here."

"I'm looking for Monty."

"He's in the magical archives. As head librarian, I would be remiss in my duties if I let someone like _you_ in there."

Jack opens his mouth and then closes it again. After a moment he manages, "What?"

"A Selenan. The last time we let one of you near our magical collection was at the end of the Great War. I don't know if the books you stole are rotting away in Selena or are in Lunanoff, but I'm not about to give you a chance to try and take any more."

"I'm _eighteen_," Jack blurts out, startled by the librarian's attitude. "I had nothing to do with something someone stole hundreds of years ago."

"No, but your ancestors did," he snaps. "It was my predecessor's bad judgement that let them into the archives. I'm not about to make the same mistake."

"My father always said that you were insufferable," Kal says, moving slightly so that he's standing between Jack and the librarian. "I never realised how right he was."

The man's eyes narrow. "Alden is a learned man but he's never been wise. If he was, he would have convinced the king not to accept a Selenan as a courtesan."

"I don't know about that, but I wonder if he could convince the king to get rid of you? If you won't let us into the archives, why don't you go and get Jack's friend for us? It might make me forget to mention to my father how uncooperative you're being."

"Your father-"

"I might even forget to tell the king how you insulted the courtesan if you do it quickly."

The man purses his lips and turns on his heel, disappearing into the city of shelves.

Jack watches him go, shock vibrating through him. He feels a little foolish for being so affected – of course not everyone in Umbra can be like Onyx and Amber and Kal. But that was the first time that anyone has shown such unpleasantness towards him in Umbra, and it has shaken him.

"His name's Roth, if you want to complain to Pitch."

Jack glances up at Kal, who grins.

"I only said _I_ wouldn't tell the king. Never said anything about you."

With a weak grin, Jack nods. He won't tell Pitch - it's not worth how much it would annoy him. Still, he appreciates being looked out for.

When Monty appears, he looks slightly frazzled. He smiles at Jack but then stops a few feet away, looking up at Kal with big eyes.

"This is Kal. He's my bodyguard," Jack says, and Monty nods, visibly gulping.

"I'm not as scary as I look," Kal says with a warm grin, and Monty nods again, still staring, like if he breaks eye contact Kal might attack him.

"I was wondering if you'd help me find some books," Jack says. "About Fintan."

"S-sure. This way." Monty sets off, and having a purpose seems to make him forget all about how intimidating Kal looks. "We have a lot of books about Fintan - that's where the king is, right?"

"He's in Blenkeld, meeting with some Fintish ambassadors," Kal says, and Monty's head snaps around, looks at his broad shoulders and quickly looks away again.

Blenkeld being a city in the southeast of Umbra, the nearest to Fintan. It also has a royal residence where Pitch and Jack could have spent the night together. But as Pitch could only take one person through the shadows with him, he took Alden as advisor. More's the pity. They could have had a lot of fun. Over the past few nights, Pitch has been using the bigger toy on Jack, and it feels so good that even the memory of it makes Jack bite his lip.

Pitch said he would be late returning to the palace, so Jack will be sleeping in his own bed tonight. It would be too strange to be in Pitch's rooms without him, but in truth, it will be strange sleeping at all without Pitch by his side. It's only been three weeks, but already Jack knows he'll miss Pitch's warmth.

And other things.

They've come to a stop, and Monty is looking at him expectantly, and Jack realises that he's just been asked a question.

"Sorry," Jack says. "What was that?"

"I said, what kind of book did you want? History, politics, geography...?"

"Um. All of the above? I just want to understand what's going on. Why Pitch would drop everything to go to this spur of the moment meeting?"

"Oh! Well. Fintan has a lot of minerals that we need. Umbra has its own mines but with a population as large as ours, we have to go with what is most efficient - the minerals from Fintan. Their minerals can provide ten time as much energy as ours!" Realising that his enthusiasm is not shared, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and starts to pile books in Jack's arms. "This is an overview, but this one will be good to read more on the minerals. And this one for culture. This one will be good for history. And this one-"

"I think that's enough for now," Kal says, and takes the books from Jack. "We can come back."

"Okay," Monty says, and then his eyes widen. "Before you go; I thought of something I think you'll like."

He hurries off through the bookcases, driven by his eagerness, and Jack has to follow closely else lose him in the maze of books. They head deeper into the library, and it's like a forest, with the bookcases blocking out the light. Everything is dim and dusty, and Jack sneezes.

"Here it is!" Monty gestures at a shelf with a flourish. "Books about Selenan religion and mythology. The moon god, but there's more - yetis and mermen and- Well, I thought you might be interested."

Jack looks at the titles. Some he recognises from the library in Lunanoff; others are new. He opens one and flicks through it. He's startled to see what looks almost exactly like a painting of himself, gazing out of the book with an equanimity that Jack himself has never had. It's the moon god, pale and otherworldly. Younger and more innocent than the usual representations.

Jack touches the painting. For the first time he feels a connection to the moon god. Here he looks young enough to be as unsure and lost as Jack feels, but that expression says that he is facing his challenges with calmness. Truly something that Jack needs now, with his magic and just life in general.

"Can I borrow this one?"

"Of course! And I think you'll really like this one too." He hands over a book about yetis, mythical creatures from the snowfields of north Selena. It looks interesting, and Jack smiles his thanks.

They leave the library and drop the books in Jack's room, before heading out for a walk to what Kal promises to be the best view in the palace.

Since Pitch is going to be away all day, Jack wears a simple outfit of brown trews and a cream shirt, but the thing that feels strangest are the shoes. Amber handed them over since the recent rains have made the ground muddy and slippery; but since he's not worn anything on his feet since arriving in Umbra, they feel almost alien. He doesn't like it, and as soon as the get to the top of the hill he kicks them off, enjoying the wet grass beneath his feet.

The view from here is nearly as good as climbing the tree, or it would be if the weather was better. He can make out Iscadin in the distance, blurred by mist. Jack closes his eyes and breathes in and out slowly, and as he calms his thoughts he can feel the water in the air around him, just as Jethryn said. The binding limits his awareness to just a few feet, and stops him from doing anything other than sense it. But he knows, he _knows_, that he could freeze it, gather it up into- something.

Perhaps Jethryn's right. He should wait to see natural snow and ice before trying to do anything of his own.

Jack expels a hard breath and then lies back on the grass. It's damp beneath him, and it slowly starts to seep through his shirt. It's not entirely unpleasant; he likes the coolness of it.

"Everything okay?" Kal asks, glancing down at him, and Jack gives him a half-smile.

"I just realised Jethryn's right about something _I_ wanted to be right about."

With a laugh, Kal flops down by his side. "That's the worst. When you realise someone knows more than you but _you_ wanted to be right."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience," Jack says, looking over at him.

"Yeah. I was taught by the swordsmaster here in the palace. Pretty good training, right? It also made me arrogant. So much so that when I got into the military I thought I already knew it all." He grins sheepishly. "The training master was more than happy to put me in my place. That went a long way to teaching me that I don't know everything, and to listen to people with more experience."

"Very deep," Jack says, laughing, but he appreciates Kal's words. He knows that he should listen to Jethryn - he knows that he's lucky to have him for a teacher. But he yearns to use his magic - having it almost within his grasp makes it more difficult to be patient.

"Not that everyone with more experience is someone that you should listen to. Like Roth: he's just a miserable fool whose only pleasure is upsetting other people. There's someone you _shouldn't_ listen to."

Jack frowns. "Maybe he's right, though. The more I learn here, I'm seeing that a lot of what I've been taught is a lie. Things about Umbra - and Selena, too."

"Even if he was right about some Selenans stealing a book hundreds of years ago, that doesn't mean anything about you, or even your ancestors. Do you really think that it would have been King Jokul himself that came in and stole those books? Trust me, Jack, he's just a bully. If my pa says that he's insufferable then he must be – Pa puts up with the _king_ and doesn't complain."

"Isn't that treason?" Jack asks, raising an eyebrow and grinning.

Kal only laughs. "And _you_ put up with the king, so Roth should be nothing to you."

"I'm fairly sure Pitch is different with me," Jack says, and glares when Kal makes a heart with his hands. He moves to hit him, but at the last moment remembers that he's not supposed to touch anyone but Pitch. Blinking, he lowers his hand. That's the first time he's almost broken that rule. _It's a stupid rule_, Jack thinks, but he doesn't want to get Kal into trouble.

It starts to rain, a light drizzle that instantly soaks through Jack's clothes. He finds it refreshing, but Kal grimaces.

"I hate rain," he moans. "I miss summer already."

"I like it," Jack says, "We don't have any kind of weather on the moon so it's still fascinating to me."

Kal laughs. "Give it time."

Jack doubts he could ever tire of this - the rain, the winds, the tall, dramatic clouds that look so threatening from the surface of the planet, but looked insubstantial as spiderweb from the moon. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, and feels that connection with the weather deepen, helping to calm the unease he still feels about Roth.

"Come on," Kal says, getting to his feet. "Lets go inside. We could get something to eat."

Jack follows Kal down into the bowels of the palace, into a maze of corridors to the kitchen. It's warm and full of good smells, and Kal convinces the cook to let them take the food that was going to be delivered to Jack's rooms.

They take their dinner into one of the state rooms. It's a grand affair for Umbra, full of dark furniture, books and splashes of gold. There's even a globe made from dark metal, tiny specks of gold marking out towns and cities. They're not supposed to be in there, not really, but it has some of the most comfortable armchairs in the whole palace. And besides, Pitch is away, most of the councillors are busy trying to figure out a plan with their limited knowledge and are far too busy to find them, let alone scold them - or so Kal says with a grin.

After dinner, they talk and talk, like Jack's never been able to talk to anyone else other than Jamie. With his siblings there was always a distance, wedged between them by their father. Even with Pitch; Jack likes to talk to him but the difference in their age and status causes a slight hesitation. But with Kal, he can talk about anything - the best places to eat in Lunanoff, or where to people watch. In turn, Kal tells him about travelling the world as a soldier. Prompted by Jack's talk of Lunanovan food, he lingers on the different cuisines, and looks longingly at his empty plate.

Long after the day has grown dark, they make their way back up to Jack's rooms.

"Oh, hey," Kal says when they exit the staircase onto the courtesan's corridor. "My replacement is here."

Jack follows his gaze to see Dannel standing by his door.

It's strange how Jack never really noticed his guards before after a few aborted attempts to talk to them in the beginning, but now that he sees Dannel standing there, still in that same Iscadin armour, he feels a flicker of disappointment. Maybe he'd been thinking that the new guard would be more like Kal. Not that Kal was ever like Kal when he was a guard.

Jack clenches his jaw. What different does it make that Dannel is his guard? If Pitch trusts him to do his job, that's enough for Jack. What else can he expect?

He _doesn't_ expect the cool look Dannel gives him, or the slight curl of his lip.

"Good evening, Dannel," Kal says.

"Kal," he replies, his voice not quite flat. There's a spike in it, anger or annoyance, Jack can't pin it down.

"Must be nice to be in the palace," Kal says with a warm smile, but in return he gets only disdain.

"Oh, yes; babysitting the courtesan instead of being captain of the guard in the foremost royal residence. Very _nice_."

Jack blinks. Even the other guard glances over. The emotion in Dannel's voice now is clear: bitter anger.

Kal puts his hands on his hips. "If you think that the king trusting you enough that he lets you guard his courtesan is some kind of insult, you're a fool. It's an honour."

"And I suppose pretending to be his friend is even more of an honour?"

"I'm not pretending, but yes, being Jack's bodyguard is a great honour."

"If you hate it so much, just ask Pitch to move you," Jack suggests, and Dannel's eyes roll to look at him and then away again.

He doesn't bother to reply, clearly ignoring him, and that is a feeling Jack knows too well. Feeling like he's invisible. Being ignored at so many feasts and festivals on the moon. Despair wells up in him at the memories, frightening in its intensity. He thought that he had gotten used to it. That it had happened so many times he was immune to it now.

It's not even Dannel that is bothering Jack - when he is doing his job, in the palace uniform, he will be expected to ignore Jack. And Jack tells himself that he doesn't care what Dannel thinks in any case.

But images stream through his head: Tooth refusing to look at him. North's sympathetic glances, while still refusing to talk to him or speak up in his defence. And Bunny, normally so loud and opinionated, but when it came to their father's treatment of Jack, he offered only silence.

Everyone Jack trusted, everyone that Jack thought would protect him - all of them ignored him. They let him be sent down here to what everyone thought would be a hellish life. Just because they were wrong doesn't change the fact that no-one helped him. That no-one even tried, other than Jamie.

Jack pushes into his room, feeling dizzy as these emotions rage through him, threatening to overcome his defences. It came out of nowhere, the balance tipped by such a tiny gesture from someone he barely knows. It scares him that he can lose control like that and he breathes heavily, leaning against a wall for support.

"Jack?" Kal follows him into the room and looks over at him, worry creasing his forehead.

He forces a smile. "I'm okay. It's been a strange day. That's all."

Kal looks at him a little longer and then nods. "I understand that you don't want to talk about it, but if you ever do I want to listen. I'm not particularly smart, and I don't have much life experience, as my pa is so fond of telling me, but I'm a good listener. And sometimes it's good to just listen, too; if you need someone to talk, I'm good at that. I was bed bound for almost a month after being injured on the eastern borders - when I was healing, I did nothing _but_ talk. I think even Ma was sick of the sound of my voice by the time I was better."

"Does your mother live in the palace?" Jack asks, because Kal is right, talking about things does help, as long as they're not _his_ things.

"No, she lives in Rocklea. A town about an hour north of the palace. I'd love to take you some time."

"That would be nice." He thinks of spending time with Jamie's family, his mother and his little sister, and it makes his heart hurt again. The thought of having fun with Jamie - of how Jamie's family seemed to care more than his own - is like a shard of ice spearing his heart.

"I'll ask the king about it," Kal says. "We could go before the first snows."

"I'd like that." It sounds like fun, but his mood spirals ever downward. He's on the verge of tears and that horrifies him, but not as much as the thought of Kal seeing him so weak. "You know, I've been sleepy all day. I guess that's why I'm overreacting. I think I'm going to go to bed. You might as well go."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Thanks."

"Jack- Is everything alright?" Kal's eyes are full of worry, and Jack has to look away. Suddenly Dannel's words cleave into his mind - that Kal is pretending to be his friend because it's his job. Could it be true? Kal's only known Jack a few weeks. Because he reminds him of Jamie so much, it's easy for Jack to convince himself that Kal cares, but does he, really?

"Fine," Jack says, and forces a smile; that's one thing he's good at. He's had a lot of practice in Lunanoff. Possibly he's slipping a little, because Kal doesn't look convinced.

"Come on, Jack. Talk to me. That's why I'm here."

"And here I was thinking you were here to protect me from rampaging beasts and cannonballs, and whatever else might be lurking in the palace grounds."

"That's my _job_, yes. But that doesn't mean I don't care about you. You're obviously upset about something-"

"I'm fine. Really. I'm just tired. That's all." He tries the smile again and though Kal still doesn't look entirely convinced, he nods.

"The king should be back soon. Maybe you can talk to him about whatever's wrong."

Jack opens his mouth to say he's fine again, but he can't manage it, so he smiles again and Kal finally leaves.

Changing into his bedrobe, Jack goes out onto the balcony. He tries to shut off his brain and stop thinking, but Dannel's rudeness is like a catalyst that has broken down a dam inside him, and all of the thoughts that Jack has been pushing away flood over him.

Does Kal really care about him? So few people have in his life. Just Amber and Onyx caring for him is miracle enough. Even Pitch - Jack _thinks_ he does, but he's never said _I love you_ since that first time. Not even when Jack agreed to be his courtesan. His vision blurs as his eyes well up with tears, and he hugs his knees into his chest.

Why would Pitch put someone as awful as Dannel as Jack's bodyguard? Surely there must be someone in the palace that could have done the job just as well. And why isn't Pitch _here_? Just being held would make him feel so much better. Like he was cared for. Like he maybe belonged here, whatever people like Roth might think.

The wind picks up, ruffles his hair, pulls at his robe, but even that doesn't make him feel any better. It just reminds him that if he did what Jethryn told him, that maybe he would have a little control over his magic by now.

Biting his lip, he tries to tell himself that he's just being foolish - all of this from one guard's cruel dismissal? Foolish it may be, but he can't control the pain welling up in him, flooding through him, filling his body and making it hard to breathe.

The first sob comes without his permission, but then the walls crumble and he gives in to his tears. For a new life that has tarnish that he naïvely didn't expect; for an old life that, however dismal, he still misses parts of, and can never have again. For a mother he never knew and a father that never loved him. Hurt after hurt crashes over him until his whole body is aching with loss and pain.

And when the sobs ease, all that is left is hollowness. With prickling eyes he looks up at the moon. Clouds drift before it, like a charcoal smear over its silvery surface. Anger at his father and the ache of missing his siblings and Jamie rise in him, scars on his heart that he'll never be rid of.

He wishes Pitch were here to hold him. And that Pitch could _understand_ without Jack having to find a way to explain what it is that hurts so much. He can't even figure it out in his head; putting it into words is impossible.

With a sigh he goes to the bathroom to splash water on his cheeks, to wipe at his red eyes. Looking at his reflection, he touches his collar and sighs with a small smile. At least he has this physical representation of Pitch's feelings. Of his possessiveness, yes, but more lies behind it.

He goes to sit on the edge of his bed and opens his jar of dreamsand. It gives off a soft golden light, and the glow of it dulls the edge of his hollowness. He touches it, scoops a little between his fingers and lets it trickle back into the jar. Perhaps sleep will help. It will let him stop thinking and worrying about things he can't change for a while, and he _is_ tired. Perhaps all of this overreacting is because of that.

As he pulls the covers over himself, he wishes that was true.

* * *

Jack is woken by a hand on his cheek and he blinks up at Pitch, who smiles at him. Blinking and yawning, pushing up into a sitting position, Jack is still slightly fuzzy from sleep. He leans against Pitch, holding him, and sighs when Pitch's arms go around his waist. Though the dreamsand gave him good dreams, they felt fake, like a curtain hiding something ugly.

"Are you alright?" Pitch asks, kissing the top of Jack's head.

"I am now you're back."

"I have to go for a meeting," he says. "Just for a little while."

"Another? You've been in meetings _all day_-"

"I know. Believe me Jack, I'm aware of that. But it should only be for an hour or so. I need to discuss the request that the Fintish representatives had - it's important, and we need to make a decision on how to proceed."

"I just want you with me," Jack says, honest from having just woken up.

"I know. And I want to be with you. Are you alright? You seem upset."

"I'm fine," Jack says flatly, and rubs his eyes. He wishes Pitch wouldn't go. He wants someone to hold him, to make him feel wanted. He knows it's childish and he doesn't really care right now, not with these raw, frayed emotions nagging at him. "Can I at least go to your rooms? To wait for you?"

"Of course."

Jack gets out of bed and Pitch smiles at the way his robe is half-open, and he pauses to run his hands over the skin that it reveals, over his chest and stomach. Jack's lips quirk into a smile of his own, and his feeling of being ignored fades.

Wrapping an arm around Jack's waist, Pitch pulls him close and kisses him with slow heat and growing urgency that makes Jack shiver. He doesn't stop feeling hollow, though, and he doesn't much care for the juxtaposition. When Pitch moves away, he's glad - he needs to find a way to get rid of this emptiness.

Pitch sighs, and kisses the tip of Jack's nose. "I do wish I could stay, Jack. But it won't be long. I promise."

Taking his hand, Pitch leads Jack to his own rooms and kisses him once more before leaving.

Lying on the bed, feeling cold and empty without Pitch in it, Jack curls on his side. He tries to go back to sleep, but without discussion or touch or sleep to distract him, his doubts and dark thoughts return. _Why didn't he see how upset you were?_ and _why didn't he stay?_.

Thoughts whirl around his mind like they're on a track, and it hurts, it _hurts_. And then they're joined by thoughts about how worthless he is - because if he wasn't, someone would have tried to save him. North and Tooth and Bunny, not one of them tried, and if his own family don't care for him, why should anyone else? He can't stop the sobs when they come softly, bringing with them deep grey grief that wraps around him like a mockery of an embrace.

By the time Pitch returns, the pillow is wet beneath Jack's cheek, but he bites his lip, not wanting Pitch to see him like this. With his back to Pitch, he lies still and listens to the rustle of cloth as he undresses, feels the dip of the mattress when he gets into bed. He's obviously being careful not to wake Jack, and other than a very gentle kiss to his shoulder, he doesn't touch him.

Tears well in Jack's eyes again as his heart hurts. Why can't Pitch see how much he's hurting? He knows that's a stupid thought – why should he? – but what if he _does_ and he's just ignoring him, like everyone else does?

He bites his lip harder and forces himself to not to sob, but he can't control the way his breath hitches.

"Jack?" Pitch's voice is soft and tired, and Jack squeezes his eyes shut. "Jack, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Pitch moves closer, putting his hand on Jack's waist, tries to get him to turn, but he shakes his head. "No. I don't- Don't look at me."

"Jack, please tell me what's wrong." There's distress in Pitch's voice now and Jack curses himself for upsetting him. And he can't stop the tears any more, he covers his face and cries, sobs wracking his body. He can't do _anything_ right. After a moment Pitch moves to spoon against him, with an arm over his waist. Jack holds his hand tightly. The contact helps and slowly, slowly, everything stops hurting. The way that Pitch's body curls around Jack's is like a shield protecting him from the world. It takes away a little of the fear, gives him a feeling of safety that makes the panic ebb away.

His sobs dissolve into sniffles, and though his heart still hurts, mostly he's just tired.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?" Pitch asks softly. "Let me help."

"It's nothing. It's stupid," Jack says, wiping angrily at his eyes. "It's nothing. Someone reminded me of my father, that's all. And I just- I made Kal leave me alone and just started crying, like a little child. And when you had to go away again- It just- It was too much. Like I said, it's stupid."

"It's not stupid," Pitch says. "While I don't know what exactly you're talking about, it's obvious that your father mistreated you. That he would give you to me, thinking that it was-" Anger seeps into his voice and he pauses to let it leech away. "Of course you're going to be upset. That you've been able to do what you have, it amazes me. You're brave, resilient, selfless-"

Jack's bitter laugh stops him. "That's not what I see."

"You will," Pitch whispers, and kisses his shoulder. Jack doesn't believe the words, but the feeling in them, the way Pitch holds him so closely, makes his eyes fill with tears again. It makes him give a watery smile – a couple of crying fits and now he can't seem to stop.

They lie like that for a while, and Jack gazes at the gentle glow of the dreamsand from the jar on Pitch's dresser. It relaxes him, even when awake. Soon he feels calm enough to turn and look at Pitch.

"You look so tired," Jack whispers, and strokes his thumb over the dark circles under his eyes. "I'm sorry. You need to sleep, not to coddle me."

"I would much rather comfort you than sleep," Pitch says, and fails in a battle against a yawn. "I am tired," he concedes. "I would really rather not travel through the shadows so far again. It's extremely draining."

"How far is it?"

"A few thousand miles," Pitch says, and Jack stares at him. He can't even conceive of distances like that. "It only takes a few minutes even then, but it saps my energy badly."

"So- why do it? Because you need the minerals?"

Pitch blinks at him and then smiles. "You've been studying, hmm? Yes, because of the minerals. We use them as a power source for heating over the winter. We have stocks, but it might not be enough if the winter is long. As much as I hate pandering to anyone, the Fintish government must be an exception."

Jack's lips twitch into a smile at the thought of Pitch fawning to the Fintish officials. "So did you sort everything out?"

"Not yet. I'll need to meet with them again, but things will need to be arranged before that can happen. Until then, I'm all yours." He yawns again and Jack looks up, feeling suddenly shy, and kisses him.

"All mine," Jack whispers, and Pitch smiles at him with so much affection in his eyes that it makes Jack feel guilty over that earlier whisper of doubt.

"Always." He yawns again, so Jack pushes him onto his back and cuddles up to his side.

"Go to sleep, Pitch," Jack says, and quickly drifts off himself, his fears at bay once more.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for your well wishes! I got the job :3 And as ever, thank you for your favs, follows and reviews, it means a lot to me.


	12. Chapter 12

Jack wakes in darkness to a pounding head and a throat full of rusty nails.

He pushes up onto an elbow to reach for a glass of water to soothe his throat, but after a few cool gulps, he sneezes and decides that he hates the world. It wakes Pitch, who instantly sits up and fusses over him.

"I feel terrible," Jack says hoarsely, and Pitch puts a hand to his forehead and frowns.

"You have a fever. I'll send the guards for a healer."

Jack opens his mouth to say not to bother, that he's sure it's just a cold, but it seems like too much energy and he flops back down onto the bed instead.

Pitch returns and gets him more water, brings some handkerchiefs and a damp cloth. He holds that last to Jack's head and it brings instant relief.

The healer comes quickly and slightly out of breath. When the king calls, it is time to run. She is lowborn but very tall, with long brown hair pinned up carefully. After bowing to Pitch, she comes to Jack's side. She moves to touch Jack's forehead, and then glances at Pitch when her fingers are an inch from Jack's skin, pausing for permission. With a slight incline of his head, Pitch gives it, and she performs her tests with gentle hands that calm Jack.

"It's just a cold," she says after a few moments, confirming Jack's suspicions. "The best thing is rest. I'll send over some tonics to help with your throat, but mostly the best way to heal is to sleep."

It is advice that Jack intends to take. When she leaves, Pitch looks at him worriedly, shifting his sweat-damp hair from his forehead.

"You can't protect me from a cold," Jack says, and Pitch sighs.

"Alas no," he says. "But I can look after you. Go back to sleep, Jack. I'll be here if you need me."

* * *

When Jack wakes the sun is morning-pale, and Pitch sits in the armchair near the dresser, reading. As he pushes himself up into something resembling sitting, grabbing Pitch's pillows to help support himself, Pitch comes over to him instantly.

"How do you feel?"

"Terrible."

Pitch reaches for a small glass bottle of green liquid from Jack's nightstand, and pours a little into a cup. "Here, this is the tonic the healer brought. Drink. It should help you feel better."

It burns as it goes down his throat and he grimaces. "I hate being ill."

"I hate seeing you ill."

"I'll try not to make a habit of it," Jack says, and goes to the bathroom, splashing some water on his face and grimacing at his pale reflection. His head is throbbing in time with his heartbeat and he feels unsteady on his feet. Coughing a little, he goes back to bed and pulls the covers over himself, feeling at once too hot and too cold.

"Funny that when I wanted you with me yesterday, you were in meetings. But when all I want to do is sleep you find time for me." It's a nasty thing to say and Jack instantly regrets it. Pitch's lips thin.

"I can't ignore all of my duties, Jack. Not even for you."

"I just want to feel like I'm important to you, not-" Jack clenches his jaw before more childishness can escape his lips.

"You are _the_ most important person to me," Pitch says, and then sighs, shaking his head. "This isn't a discussion to have while you're ill. Get some more sleep. I've asked Alden and Onyx to take care of all of my responsibilities today so that I can take care of you. I'll be here."

Petulance rouses itself in Jack, but he closes his eyes, hoping sleep will come quickly before he can make a fool of himself again.

* * *

This time Jack sleeps until late in the afternoon, feeling rested and much improved. He washes and then Pitch gives him more of the tonic.

"How do you feel?"

"Better. A little."

"Can you eat?"

Jack shrugs. He's not hungry but he supposes he should.

Pitch arranges for a thin broth to be brought up, mostly tasteless through Jack's cold. Once he's eaten enough to feel full, he remembers his earlier churlishness and bites his lip.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," Jack says, pushing himself up into a seated position. Pitch fusses over him, getting an extra pillow to support him. "I shouldn't speak when I'm ill. I always say something to upset someone. Or get upset. I suppose that explains yesterday's overreaction."

"I think it just made you more sensitive, that's all. Being ill always brings my barriers down," Pitch says, making Jack drink more of the tonic. "Although I tend to anger rather than tears."

"You, angry? Surely not," Jack says with a twitch of a smile.

"I know it's hard to imagine," Pitch says drily. After checking Jack's temperature, he goes to get another cool cloth, and Jack sighs at the relief it provides. "You should ask Onyx some time. She has a great many stories about me losing my temper."

"You grew up together, right?"

"We did," Pitch says, inclining his head. "Over the summers, at least; her mother brought her down here while Lord Tarr governed the north. As she was heir to the throne after me, she had to learn the ways of court, just as I did."

"But you had fun too, right?"

"There was little time for fun, Jack."

"Come on, there's _always_ time for fun. Even I had fun, along with… everything else." Golden eyes snap to him, and Jack catches his breath, afraid that Pitch will question him. He can think of nothing about his life in Lunanoff that he wishes to speak of.

"We hid from our tutors sometimes," Pitch says softly, reaching out to brush his fingers through Jack's hair. "We'd go into the forest and climb the trees, away from searching eyes. We'd speak of our dreams for the future…" He trails off and there is sadness in his eyes. His fingers stroke down Jack's cheek and neck, lingering on the collar.

Jack isn't sure what he's thinking of – his shattered dreams of a family, perhaps – but seeing Pitch's sadness makes his heart hurt, and he tries to take his mind from dark matters. "What else did you do? For fun?"

"We would sneak our horses out of the stables," Pitch says, and a memory makes him chuckle. "I rode a mare as a teenager, feisty and black as night. I named her Onyx."

Jack snorts. "I bet your cousin appreciated that."

"Most assuredly. She called her ill-tempered treecat after me in revenge."

"The cat sounds more like you than the horse does Onyx."

"Oh, Onyx can be feisty on occasion."

"And I bet Amber could tell me all about that," Jack says, wondering if she would. She'd be more like to than Onyx would tell her tales of Pitch. "So once you'd got your horses - what then?"

"We'd ride around the gardens, through the forest – we once even managed to sneak past the guards and rode to Iscadin. My father was raging for days about that one."

"Was it worth it?" It's hard to imagine Pitch young and mischievous. Jack wishes he could have met him.

"It was," Pitch says without hesitation. "It was the first time I'd been in the city without an entourage. We bought pastries and sat on the dock, watching the people, watching the ships. It was the first time I knew what it was like to not be a prince."

"Did you like it?"

"Until someone tried to pickpocket me. I was so enraged that grabbed them with a hand made of shadows and held them twenty feet in the air over the water. People didn't take long to work out who I was after that."

Jack laughs and his head spins; his wince of pain makes Pitch worry over him and Jack has to bat him away. "Maybe we could go to the docks in disguise. No-one would know you were the king and I was the courtesan. We'd just a couple spending time together."

Pitch pauses. "I wonder: would you want to spend time with me if you weren't my courtesan?"

His voice is contemplative but Jack's response is instant. "Sure I would. You need more fun in your life, and I think I'm just the man to provide it."

"I think so too," Pitch says, lifting Jack's hand to his lips. "And what would we do for fun? What did you do in Lunanoff?"

Jack blinks, caught off guard. Yet Pitch answered his questions; an answer in return is only fair. "I spent time with my friend, the one I was hoping to see at with Councillor Marek. Although he was due to start a job, so I suppose we wouldn't have seen each other so often." Jack frowns; it's a thought he had been avoiding in Lunanoff. Jamie was his only real friend; Jack's life would have gotten much lonelier. Jamie's other friends had been pleasant enough but always distant, showing awareness of his status in a way that Jamie never did. Jamie treated him like just another kid; the others treated him like a prince. "As I said before, we used to run along the rooftops; we'd explore - just as I'm doing with Kal."

"And you miss your friend?"

"Yes," Jack says, sighing. Talking of Jamie makes him miss him even more, and being ill makes it worse. "I'd like to see him again one day."

"Perhaps you will," Pitch says, and a flicker of hope sparks in Jack; it isn't a yes but it isn't a no, either. "Despite that – missing your friend - you are glad you chose to stay?"

"Of course I am. Is that not obvious?"

"Considering that I returned last night to find you crying, no, it isn't." Pitch sighs and pushes up the sleeve of Jack's bedrobe so that he can trace the lines of his marking. "I want to make you happy but I don't know how."

Jack blinks up at him, not sure where this uncertainty has come from. "You are," he says and smothers a yawn as tiredness attempts to pull him beneath the waves of sleep once more. "Mostly it's thinking about things that have already happened that makes me unhappy."

"Then I will ensure that your future is full of happiness." The fierce intensity in Pitch's voice is at odds with the sweetness of his words, and Jack laughs softly, squeezing his hand.

Before Jack can speak, there is a knock at the door. When Pitch goes to answer it, Amber and Onyx step into the room. Onyx is dressed even more formally that usual in what looks like a military uniform. Pitch mentioned that she was taking on some of his responsibilities while he looked after Jack, but what duties require her to wear a uniform?

"Jack! We wanted to see how you were," Amber says, coming over to sit on the bed by his side, either not noticing or not minding Pitch's frown. Raising a hand to his forehead, she frowns. "Oh, you poor thing. You're burning up."

"I'm better than I was this morning," he assures her, gratitude for their visit warming him nearly as much as the fever.

"I brought you a few things," she says, putting a carefully folded pile of clothes on the bed by his side. "Mostly a few new bedrobes, since that's where you'll be spending most of your time until you're feeling better."

Jack reaches for the top one. Unfolding it, he sees that there are embroidered sigils on the neckline, looping and complex and like nothing he's ever seen before.

"I copied them from an old Sinaran robe," she explains. "It's supposed to be a healing spell, but since I don't have a whit of magic they're more wishful thinking than anything. Pretty though."

"Whereas I brought something that might actually help," Onyx says, stepping forward and leaning over Amber to hand Jack a bottle of clear liquid. "It's a tincture of herbs, based on a recipe given to me by Lady Ravus. It does wonders."

"Lady Ravus?" Jack sniffs at it but through his cold he can't smell a thing. "She seemed more like a warrior than a healer."

"She's both. A warrior with powerful healing magic."

Jack blinks at her. "But- I thought highborn Umbrans could only use shadow magic."

"One of her ancestors married a Selenan," Amber says, linking her arm with Jack's and grinning at him. "Back when it was frowned on for highborn Umbrans to marry anyone other than another highborn Umbran, never mind a Selenan – we were enemies at the time, in the middle of one war or another. But they were madly in love and didn't care about any of that. It's very romantic." She puts a dramatic hand to her chest and opens her mouth to continue, but before she can there's another knock at the door.

Pitch's eyes roll toward it in a glare. Tutting, he goes to answer it, revealing Kal.

"I'm sorry to intrude, your highness," he says with a deep bow. "But when I heard that Jack wasn't feeling well, I-" He notices Onyx and his eyes widen. His mouth works silently for a moment before settling on a hopeless smile. Onyx smiles back; though she must be able to see his response, she is as polite and civil as ever.

"That's very nice of you, Kal," she says.

"Well, of course, Jack's my friend," Kal says, his words stumbling over one another in their hurry. His smile is embarrassed but there is still warmth in it. He walks over to Jack and hands him a small package wrapped in cheesecloth. "They're made from lemon and honey," Kal says as Jack opens it to see small square pastilles. "Ma always said they helped with a cold."

"With all of these remedies Jack can't help but get better quickly," Pitch mutters, pausing for another moment by the door, hands on his hips, as though he expects another knock. When it becomes apparent that Kal is the last visitor, he comes back to Jack, sitting beside him once more and taking his hand.

Jack pops one of the pastilles in his mouth, and even through his cold he can tell that they're delicious. "Thank you," he says to Kal, and as he looks around the room he feels warmth toward these people; he feels _cared_ for. All of them are joined in their concern for him, enough to put aside the time to come and visit him, to give him gifts. "Thank you. All of you."

"We wanted to see you," Amber says. "When the king sent me a message this morning to say that you were ill and that he'd be dressing himself to spend more time with you, I was _terrified_. And when Onyx said it was only a cold..." She shakes her head.

"I think Pitch has a flair for the melodramatic."

They talk for a while, even Pitch, though his dry humour is clearly evident. But as Jack's yawns grow more frequent, Pitch ushers them all out.

"Sleep, Jack. You look so tired."

Pitch's words could just as easily apply to himself. It looks like he has sooty fingerprints beneath his eyes, and his skin is dull and pale.

"You sleep too. You're exhausted."

"Yesterday's travelling took a lot out of me," Pitch concedes. "But it's fine. I'll watch over you-"

"I don't need someone to watch me sleep. It's more important that you don't get ill. So come to bed. It'll help me sleep," he adds, and Pitch's shoulders bow in defeat.

The day has grown late, and once Pitch draws the curtains it's easily dark enough to sleep. He strips and pulls on a bedrobe of black silk before climbing beneath the bedclothes. He spoons his body against Jack's, wrapping an arm protectively over his waist.

"You're so warm," Pitch murmurs, his lips brushing against the back of Jack's neck. It feels good.

"Well yeah; I have a fever."

"But you're never warm," Pitch continues, concern colouring his voice. "Your skin is usually so cool."

"Then you should be grateful; you said just a few days ago that the nights are getting colder."

Pitch sighs and kisses the back of Jack's neck. "I'll be grateful when you're better. Go to sleep, Jack."

* * *

When Jack wakes the next day, he feels much better; as though the giant squeezing his head between finger and thumb has loosed his grip.

Letting his head fall to the side he sees Pitch is sitting at a table on the opposite side of the room, talking quietly with Alden. He notices Jack's waking immediately, and breaks off mid-sentence to come over to him.

"Did we wake you? If it wasn't a matter of urgency I would have asked Alden to come back when you were awake-"

"You didn't wake me," Jack says, smiling a little at Pitch fussing like a mother hen. "If it's urgent, go back to your politics. Go to the study if you like. I'm going to have a bath."

"Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"I doubt a bath will be _too_ taxing," Jack says, pushing himself up from the bed and trying not to sway. Pitch looks unconvinced and makes him drink more of the healer's tonic.

"I could come back," Alden starts, getting to his feet, but Pitch sighs.

"No. We need to make a decision this morning so that the letters can be sent out. Jack, if you need me-"

"I'll be _fine_,"Jack says. It takes an effort to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He wishes he hadn't bothered, for Pitch continues to fuss over him, asking Alden to wait in the study so that he can run Jack's bath.

"You're being ridiculous," Jack tells him as he climbs in, and Pitch nods solemnly.

"I am," he agrees, and kisses Jack before leaving him to warm water and fuzzy thoughts about how being cared for can be so pleasant and so annoying at the same time.

When he gets out, his stomach growls and he puts a hand to it. All he had yesterday was the thin broth; no wonder he's hungry. A little food might ease the lightheadedness too. He could ask the guards, but with Pitch's protectiveness gone into overdrive he might be offended that Jack didn't ask him.

Following the muted sound of voices, Jack finds himself at the dark wooden door of Pitch's study. It is within Pitch's suite of rooms, but other than being briefly shown around, Jack hasn't been in. He knocks, and when he hears Pitch call out for him to enter, he does. Large windows let the grey daylight in, illuminating walls covered in bookcases or old maps.

Pitch and Alden sit at a large wooden table, another map spread out on its surface. It is a map of the world, its corners weighed down by heavy books.

"Jack," Pitch says, coming over to him and taking his hands. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better," Jack says, squeezing his hand and pulling him over to the table. He wants to look at the map. Sitting in the seat beside Pitch's he studies the slightly yellowed parchment. Some of the borders are vastly different to those on maps in Lunanoff, so much so that even a disinterested student like him notices. He wonders: is it because they had little information on the changing world after the exodus to the moon, or were those maps made with purpose? Knowing how many lies have been told to him has made him cynical, and being ill makes his moods wax negative.

Fintan is out near the southwest corner of Umbra, across a wide channel of sea. There is Blenkeld, the Umbran port city on the coast, far away from Iscadin and the palace.

"What are you planning?" Jack asks.

"We need to meet up with the Fintish ambassadors once more," Pitch says, sitting and taking Jack's hand, unconcerned with Alden's presence. "They are asking a lot of us, to sail to war, on autumn seas no less. The Fintish king himself has agreed to meet with me in Umbra. That alone speaks volumes about their desperation. The man hates sailing with a passion."

"Is the king coming here? To Iscadin?"

Pitch shakes his head. "No, it will be in Blenkeld. I'll be sending a message to Lord Tarr to ask him to bring his journey mages south."

"Journey mages?"

"Those who can open portals to travel over long distances. Like Lunanoff's silver bridge," Alden says. "Nearly all of them are of Selenan descent- I'm sure they'll be delighted to meet you, Jack."

"You think so?" The thought of Selenans on the planet didn't even cross his mind. They are never mentioned in Lunanoff, but then why would they be? There is no room for them in the city, and Selena has most likely been a grey wasteland for years. And yet, what of those in Lunanoff who might have relatives here in Umbra, or in other countries? Now that he has started to think about it, how strange it is that there's been so little contact between Lunanoff and those others who were once Selenan.

Thinking is difficult with his headache and he frowns, willing himself to get better quickly.

"It will take a few weeks to organise everything," Pitch says. "But I'm sure with Tarr's fondness for parties, he'll put something together so he can introduce you."

"I'd like that," Jack says, wondering what they're like, if they would truly like to meet the descendant of the king who abandoned their families. Despite that, he's curious to meet them.

"But I'm sure you didn't come to discuss politics. Is everything alright, Jack?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to take a break. I'd like something to eat."

"We're more or less done for now," Alden says, rolling up the map and standing

"You don't have to leave-"

"I'm sure the king doesn't want me to intrude any further," Alden says with a smile. "It's good to hear that you're feeling better, Jack. You should have heard Pitch fretting."

The indignant look on Pitch's face sends Jack into a fit of laughter that hurts his head, but it's worth it. "I don't mind being fretted over. It's nice to feel cared for."

"But of course," Alden says, but before he can continue there is a knock at the door.

When Pitch calls for them to enter, Kal steps into the room. He smiles at Jack and his father, and he bows to Pitch.

"I hope you don't mind, your highness," Kal says. "I wanted to check on how Jack was doing."

"Kal," Alden says, shaking his head, exasperation leaking into his voice. "You can't bother the king at all hours of the day. It's your job to look after Jack when Pitch isn't available, but right now he is taking time to look after him. I would have thought you would relish the time away from working."

"I have fun with Jack, Pa. It's not like a job at all."

Alden sighs and goes over to his son, clasping his shoulder. Only now, when they're side by side, does Jack see the similarity between father and son. Alden is taller than Kal, more slender and far more serious, but they share a squared jawline and eyes of silver. There is clear affection there and Jack feels jealousy like a hand around his throat, wishing he could have had even a sliver of that love from his own father.

"Honestly," Alden says. "I don't know where you get this from. Your mother's as hard-working as I am."

"I do work hard. I just enjoy it," Kal says with an easy shrug. "What's so wrong with that?"

"Nothing, as long as you remember that it _is_ work."

"Of course I do," Kal says with an exaggerated eye roll, and turns his warm smile to Jack. "How are you feeling today? Have my pastilles done the trick?"

"I'm feeling better, so I guess they must have."

"Ma's recipe," Kal tells Alden, whose expression instantly softens, a smile lightening up his whole face.

"Then you'll be better in no time," Alden says. "Amilla's pastilles and potions never fail." Under the weight of that smile, Jack's opinions of Alden shift. He's always liked him and found him friendly, but his overarching opinion of him as a composed military man are overshadowed by how fatherly he is when his son is around. "But come, Kal. Let's leave Jack to his rest."

After saying his goodbyes and rolling up the map, Pitch pulls a cord on the wall. Within moments Pitch's manservant appears. King though he is, Pitch has little patience for servants, preferring to do things himself, but on the rare occasions he requires assistance he calls on Ivor. Tall and willowy even for a highborn Umbran, his constant dreamy smile belies his frightening proficiency. So far Jack has seen him bring books, clean, and carry so many glasses of wine without spilling a drop that it seemed like it must be an illusion. He's also unfailingly pleasant, and after bowing to Pitch, he turns his smile to Jack.

"I heard that you're feeling a little better today, Jack, and I'm truly glad to hear it."

"Thank you," Jack says, returning the smile.

"We'll be taking lunch in the drawing room," Pitch says. "Arrange for something to be brought up."

"Of course, your highness," Ivor says with a slight bow of his head. "Something spicy, perhaps? Just the thing to burn away a cold."

He leaves, and Jack follows Pitch into the drawing room. He's spent a longer in here than the study, lounging on sofas and watching through the windows as the trees fall into autumnal colours, like they're twisting into fire. Sitting on his favourite sofa, carefully angled to the windows and plump with black and grey cushions, he watches Pitch pull a table over.

"Can I help?" He starts to get up, but Pitch waves him back down.

"You're ill. Sit."

"I'm not that ill-"

"Let me fuss over you, Jack," Pitch says as he pulls the table into place before them. He sits and leans in to kiss Jack, but Jack pulls back.

"You shouldn't. I don't want you to get ill - I'm not as good at being a mother hen as you are."

"Then it's fortunate that highborn Umbrans rarely get illnesses, isn't it?" The kiss is brief but full of a sweetness that flows through to Jack. When Pitch moves away, he finds that Jack's fingers are tangled in his robe and he doesn't get very far.

When Ivor returns with a tureen on a trolley, Jack is curled up against Pitch, dozing lightly, not quite asleep. Pitch's fingers are in Jack's hair, where they so often find themselves. Neither of them bother to rouse themselves as Ivor takes the lid from the tureen and starts to spoon the contents into dishes. A spicy, savoury smell fills the air.

It's delicious, the strong flavours coming through despite his cold. He empties his bowl, and a second serving, along with chunks of bread slathered in butter. By the time he puts down his fork he is full and content. He rearranges the cushions to be more comfortable and leans against Pitch. Despite being ill and holding a handkerchief to his nose more often than not, he still feels happy when Pitch slides an arm over his shoulders and they sit together watching the trees dance with the wind.

* * *

In the afternoon, Monty comes to see Jack. It warms Jack's heart perhaps even more than the visits that the others paid him, for he's obviously terrified of Pitch but came anyway. He brings with him a book of Selenan tales, in case he gets bored of lying in bed.

That's not something that is a danger. Pitch has been telling him tales of his own, of adventures on the high seas, when he captained his own ship. Visits to far off lands, collecting trinkets that he shows to Jack. With awe, Jack holds in his own hands crystals and books and carvings from places that are nothing more than fairy tales to Jack, told by his nanny when he was young and by North when he was older - though North's versions were so unlike the nanny's that they might as well have been different stories altogether. Princes became boisterous risk takers instead of being charming and pure of heart; innocent maidens became warriors with tongues as sharp as their swords.

The thought of those tales make him feel restless. He wants to feel the wind on his skin, to breathe sweet lungfuls of fresh air. There's no chance of Pitch taking him outside while he's ill but perhaps he can have the next best thing.

"Can we go out on the balcony?" Pitch pauses, looking hesitant, so Jack presses. "All the time I've been here, being outside has made me feel better. And I'm an ice mage - the cool might help me. Not to mention with this fever-"

"Alright, alright," Pitch says with a sigh. "We can go onto the balcony for a little while. But you must let me know if it makes you feel unwell."

"I will. I promise."

Ivor is called to light the braziers that sit in the corners of the balcony like oversized iron goblets. Despite Jack's protests, Pitch wraps him in a cloak, pale blue with an ornate silver clasp. It rests lightly on his shoulders, and the material is soft, neither too warm nor too cold, a good choice for someone who doesn't feel the chill in the air. By the time they step outside, the fires are crackling merrily.

When they are seated he pulls his legs onto the sofa and tugs the cloak aside so that his bare feet are exposed to the cool air. Jack breathes in deeply, or as deeply as his cold will allow, and then lets out his breath in a sigh. A few more deep breaths and he already feels better, a little less like his head is full of fuzz. He leans against Pitch, resting his head on his shoulder and joining their hands.

The days are growing shorter and though it is early still, the sky is already darkening. Above there is nothing but a featureless spread of grey that blocks the sun; what little light there is fades rapidly. The colours of the treetops, merry reds and burnished colds, seem to desaturate as the day comes to a close.

As he gazes out at the darkening sky, Jack thinks of Monty, Kal, and Alden, Onyx and Amber. Even Ivor - all of these people concerned with his wellbeing. He feels touched that they care for him so and a little awed that they show it so openly. Back in Lunanoff, whenever he got ill, Tooth and his brothers would come to see him but their visits would be brief, as though they were afraid that showing him too much affection would reflect badly on them; perhaps it would. Jack can't help a sigh.

"Is something the matter?"

"No. I'm just remembering."

"Will you tell me?"

Jack pauses, and then thinks of everything he's already shared. He can share a little more. "Whenever I was ill in Lunanoff, no-one ever spent much time with me, as you're doing. My family - I never saw my father, not once. Tooth, North and Bunny - they'd come to see me, but not for long. As though they had somewhere more important to be."

"More important?" Pitch's voice is rich with annoyance and his frown is deep. "What could be more important than your health?"

"I understand that they all had jobs, but... You know, Ben was the one who would come to see me most often," Jack says with grim humour. "Perhaps he was just checking up on the health of his pawn."

"The less said about Benard, the happier I will be. Unless we speak of how very much I'd like to get him in the dungeons and make him pay for the way he treated you. Your father too, for that matter."

Jack is certain that Pitch means it but isn't sure how he feels about the thought of Ben and his father being Pitch's prisoners. For all they cast him aside like he was nothing more than a bargaining chip, they had their reasons. More importantly, it has turned out to be very much for the better; Jack's life here in Umbra is a vast improvement on what he had in Lunanoff. Part of him wants them to pay for their actions, for the way he has suffered because of them - especially his father, who treated him so badly for so long. But when Jack thinks back to Marek, to the way Pitch was towards him, he can see a hint what Amber and Onyx meant when they talked about darkness within Pitch. If Ben and Jack's father ended up in Pitch's dungeons, that darkness would truly show itself, and the thought makes Jack uneasy. Vengeance doesn't sit well with him.

"You shouldn't dwell on such things when you're ill," Pitch says softly, and kisses Jack's temple. "The book that your friend brought you - would you like me to read to you?"

"Yes," Jack says, smiling. "I'd like that."

Jack asks for his favourite story, the Tale of the Prince of Winter. After years of sadness and many challenges, a lonely winter sprite finally finds a home and a family. When his nanny told him that tale, Jack always pictured himself as that winter sprite, and longed for his own happy ending.

As night falls, Pitch's velvet voice wrapping around him, Jack thinks that he might have found it at last.

* * *

It takes a week to convince Pitch that he's well enough to resume lessons with Jethryn.

On the morning of returning to his lessons, Pitch leaves early to go to a meeting about the situation in Fintan. Onyx went with him, talking rapidly about the treacherous autumn tides, leaving Jack with Amber. No sheer cloth today: instead the robe is made of soft, thin wool in a rich blue. It falls to the floor, skimming the tops of his feet. Black trews are revealed by slits up the side that will make it easier to sit cross-legged in his lesson. The only decoration is a narrow band of beading on the collar, but the wool is such a lovely colour that it doesn't need more embellishment. Jack suspects, however, that the choice of material was not Amber's own.

"Did Pitch tell you to wrap me up warmly?" He asks, and Amber laughs, nodding.

"He did. The king's a little overprotective on occasion."

"More than a little," Jack mutters, then winces, knowing that he is being ungrateful. "I mean-"

"You've had him fussing over you all week," Amber says softly. "Sweet as it is, a whole week of it is more than a little overwhelming. That's one of the king's specialities, being overly everything. Overwhelming, overprotective - he never does things by halves."

Now it is Jack's turn to laugh; that's true enough, and as accurate a description of Pitch as he's likely to hear. "Isn't that the truth."

"He's always been the same while I've known him, and I daresay if you ask Onyx, she'd say he's been that way since childhood."

Jack thinks back to Pitch's "_There wasn't much time for fun, Jack,"_ and suspects that she's right. "He's intense," he agrees.

"Have you been outside today, Jack?" He shakes his head. "There's a reason that Pitch is being especially careful of you today and it's not just because you've been ill."

"What do you mean?"

"You should see it for yourself," she says mysteriously.

"Can I see it from the balcony?"

She nods, smiling, and follows him as he steps outside.

As he opens the door he knows that there is something different. The air is cold, colder than he's ever felt it, and almost sharp. Along the wall of the balcony, something glitters in the pale sunlight and he steps forward, mesmerised.

"Frost," he whispers. Tiny particles covering the stone, and when he touches it he feels his magic stir, try to reach out to it but being blocked by the binding. He _aches_ suddenly, like the way he aches when he thinks of Jamie. A sense of loss, of missing something that should be a part of his life.

It will be, Jack promises himself. His magic and Jamie both.

* * *

When Jack is sitting in Jethryn's workrooms, cross-legged and breathing deep, it's difficult to focus, knowing that frost is on the ground, just _waiting_ for him. He tries, and manages to meditate for a few minutes, but then the thought of frost breaks the surface of his calm like the ice breaking on the water of the ritual pool that first day here.

"It's more difficult to do this inside," Jack says with a sigh, stretching out his legs. "Can we go outside? Especially since there's frost on the ground. I think it'll really help me."

"I'm not sure frost on the ground is going to help with meditation," Jethryn says, but a smile plays around his lips. "In fact, I think the cold might be rather distracting."

"I don't get cold."

"_You_ might not," Jethryn says, but he stands and moves to the wardrobe by the side of the room, pulling out a heavy grey cloak with angular sigils embroidered around the edge in silver thread. As he drapes it over his shoulders, he pauses. "Are you sure you don't need a cloak?"

"I'm sure," Jack says, not bothering to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

In the courtyard where they meditate, frost sparkles on the stone walls and floor. He knows Jethryn is right, that the excitement Jack feels is not conducive to meditation but he can't help it. He can feel it under his feet and under his fingers when he touches the wall. He feels an instant connection to the frost, a spark that longs to become a storm.

"Remember, Jack," Jethryn says, arranging his cloak so that he sits on it as well as covering him. "If I feel that you've been improving, I'll dim the binding on your collar; but if I _don't_, then I'll delay it."

"There's that bribery again," Jack says, but obediently sits opposite him.

He closes his eyes and breathes, and tries to connect with the frost. He feels it under his feet; dropping his hands, he feels it under his fingers. At first the excitement ebbs up but he breathes through it, lets the connection with the ice cool his emotions. It's a strange feeling, exhilarating and calming at the same time. He sinks deeper into the connection but the binding is a barrier that is impossible to overcome. Annoyance buzzes in him, but he forces himself to breathe, reminds himself that this is the road to removing that barrier.

He tries to open his awareness further, to the breeze on his arms, whispering through his hair. To the crisp smell of the autumn air. It calms him. Soothes him.

"Open your eyes, Jack," Jethryn says, and he does, offering him a smile. Jethryn smiles back. "You've improved so much. You seem calmer. More at ease with yourself."

"I am. I feel more confident. Like I'm where I belong."

Jethryn's smile is soft and gentle, like a comforting touch. "I'm happy for you, Jack. It's obviously helping you; you've done well today."

Jack basks in the warmth of the compliment, feeling one step closer to getting the binding dimmed.

* * *

Knowing that he is so close to his goal makes him focused, and every day Jethryn says again how impressed he is. By the end of the week, anticipation is a roar in Jack's thoughts.

Evening brings Pitch to him after a long day apart. They're taking their supper in the drawing room, savoury scones and a hot sweet tea made from herbs and flowers. Jack has missed him and he leans close, tangling their fingers as he nibbles on a slice of apple.

"Jethryn has been telling me how much you've improved," Pitch says, and Jack looks up at him, startled.

"Did he ask you about dimming the binding?"

"He did," Pitch says, sipping his tea. "And I said that if he thinks you're ready, he should go ahead."

"Pitch," Jack says softly, sitting up and feeling delight bubble in him. "Do you know how much this means to me?"

"You've been working hard, you deserve it. I hope it's everything you think it will be."

"Was it for you? When you started to learn how to use your magic?"

"I never had my magic bound," Pitch says, his lips thin and a spark of anger in his eyes. "I still don't understand why they did that to you."

"Neither do I," Jack says with a shrug. Now that he is finally going to be able to use his magic, the reasons behind his binding seem less important. "Tell me what it was like for you."

"I started to feel a connection to my magic when I was eight; by then I had already had a lot of the lessons you've had about meditation and theory."

"So you're saying that you were better than me when you were eight? You must have been a precocious child."

Pitch looks at him coolly and flicks his ear gently. Jack tries to act indignant but his chuckle undermines the act. "Perhaps if you work hard, you'll be able to show as much talent as my eight-year-old self."

Jack truly laughs now, and climbs into Pitch's lap. "I daresay I'll manage. In any case, there are many other areas where I show talent, right?" He kisses him to emphasise what he means, and Pitch laughs softly.

"Indeed there are, Jack; but perhaps you should remind me?"

"That I could," Jack whispers as he pushes Pitch's robe off his shoulders.

* * *

When Jack arrives at Jethryn's work rooms, he is deep in study, all of his attention on a large leather-bound book. Jack closes the door a little more loudly than he should, and Jethryn looks up with a smiile.

"Good afternoon," he says to Jack, and gestures at the book. "This is the spell to dim the binding on your collar. I'm sure the king mentioned to you that I'd like to go ahead with that."

"He did," Jack says, words coming out in a tangled rush. "This is going to be wonderful-"

"Your magic is still going to be heavily bound. The collar was made using a very old design. As well as creating the markings, it has another function for courtesans with magic-"

"The binding, right. But you can dim it."

"Yes. The binding can be reduced all at once, or in ten increments. Once you've mastered the magic that you can access, we can dim it more."

"So when do we start?"

Jethryn laughs and stands, closing the book. "Impatient, aren't you?"

"You know I am," Jack says, not bothering to try and hide his excitement. Finally he's going to reclaim something that his family took from him so many years ago, something that should have been his all along. Another reason that he belongs here in Umbra, where people care about what he wants.

"We'll go to the courtyard, where you'll be able to connect with the wind and the frost," Jethryn says, putting his cloak over his shoulders. He pauses as though he will ask Jack if he needs one of his own, and Jack is grateful when he doesn't. He's had quite enough of that.

It's a challenge to walk through the halls to the courtyard - he wants to _run_, he wants this binding off. He forces himself to match Jethryn's steps, tries to breathe deep and slow. A little calm descends on him but it's like a blanket covering a squirming child.

As Jack expected, Jethryn begins the lesson as he always does, with meditation. By the time Jack is ordered to open his eyes, the calm is deeper, less of a mask. He feels the cool courtyard stone under his legs, the pale warmth of the weak sun, the breeze whispering over his skin as though it knows what is going to happen.

"Alright, Jack," Jethryn says, pushing to his feet. "I'm going to start the spell. It'll take a little while, so keep up your calm breathing as best you can."

He moves behind Jack and kneels. He touches the back of the collar, careful not to brush against his skin.

The spell is a song in Jethryn's musical voice, the words of the Old Tongue trickling over Jack like warm rain. It's soothing and it's easier than he expected to keep his breaths deep and slow. He relaxes deeper and deeper into the stillness, only half-aware of Jethryn's voice, and then-

There's no sound but it feels like a key turning. A release. An awareness. He keeps his eyes closed and tries to listen, as Jethryn has taught him. He can hear the wind in the same as he's always been able to, but more so. Clearer. There are no words; it's more like an emotion, light and giddy and playful.

Jack stands, eyes still closed, so that he can feel the wind over more of his body. And then he tries to push his will on it, as Jethryn taught him-

He cries out as he is thrown into the air, carried on the wind like a leaf. He tries to gather his magic, pictures stillness, and he floats for a moment or two. Down in the courtyard Jethryn stares up at him with wide eyes, Jack must be ten feet in the air. His heart leaps with tightly knotted fear and excitement. He's _flying_-

Until suddenly the wind seems to drop him and he's falling, tumbling down to the hard stone courtyard. Soft shadows catch him, lowering him to the ground.

"That was amazing!" Jack says, jubilant, his heart racing. "Did you see that?"

"That was _dangerous_," Jethryn says, pale and wide-eyed. "If I hadn't been here to catch you-"

"Then the wind would have," Jack laughs. "I can control it-"

"_Jack!_" A note of command in Jethryn's voice stills a little of Jack's giddiness. "You _cannot_ control it. That's not something that comes with the magic - you have to work for it, and work hard. You have to learn control. And we are going to sit here until you have. I knew you were powerful but I had no idea that you were _this_ powerful."

There is fear in Jethryn's voice too, and that is what gives Jack pause. _Could_ he have controlled the wind? No, he thinks. The excitement jolted his focus out of place, and there is no way he would have been able to gather it again before hitting the ground. From that height the best he could have hoped for would have been a broken limb.

"You're right," he says in a quiet voice. For the second time in as many weeks, Jethryn has proven Jack's naïveté to be just that. Jack needs to start respecting his teacher's wisdom.

"Sit," Jethryn says, more softly now, and sits opposite him, opening the box he bought with him. He pulls out a single orange leaf and lays it on the ground between them. "Control the wind to lift that a foot in the air."

_Easy_, Jack thinks, reaching for his magic; the wind gusts through the courtyard, picking up the leaf and whisking it away over the high walls.

"Try again."

Again and again and again, twenty times before Jack manages to so as Jethryn asked. He is getting better at recognising what he needs to do. The wind is full of burbling energy, wanting to play. He needs to bend his will against it, to command it. It takes all of the lessons from Jethryn to find his calm centre, to overcome his own excitement. Only then, when he has control over his own emotions, does he manage to extend that control to the wind.

When Kal comes to collect Jack, Jethryn sends him away, saying that they need more time to practice.

By the time the sun is setting, Jethryn has had him lifting leaves to different heights, circling them, leaping over the walls on purpose this time.

This is his magic, he realises. He can access his magic and he can _control_ it! He can make the wind do what he wants!

"Can I try letting it carry me again?"

Jethryn winces and shakes his head. "No, Jack. Let's continue our lessons with inanimate objects first. But if you continue to improve then yes, the wind will carry you."

Jack beams, feeling like he is sparkling with joy.

This is what he's meant to do; this is who he's meant to be.

And Umbra is where he belongs.

* * *

When he gets back to the room, Jack sends for Amber. He has a plan, and he needs her help.

She puts his plan into action with her usual effortless style, and once she has gone, he waits.

Hearing the guards greet Pitch out in the hallway, Jack shrugs off his robe and gets into place on the bed, legs carefully crossed to protect his modesty. He tries a demure look, but excitement barrels through him and he grins as Pitch comes into the bedroom.

Pitch stares.

Jack asked Amber to make him beautiful, and from Pitch's response, she did an excellent job. She lined his eyes with black and silver, put silver chains around his ankle, decorated with tiny sapphires. The materials are echoed in his headdress: silver filigree and sapphires, delicate chains. Long earrings brush his shoulders, and he moves his foot across the sheets, making a tiny bell on his anklet chime out.

"Welcome back, my king."

Pitch stares for another moment and then lets the papers in his hand fall to the floor, scattering like autumn leaves. He strides over to Jack and climbs on top of him, kissing him hungrily. The kiss, the feeling of Pitch, fully clothed on top of him, makes Jack groan and buck his hips up against Pitch's. He wraps his arms around him, dragging his nails down his back.

In response Pitch growls, soft, low, and bites at Jack's bottom lip. Jack puts a hand to Pitch's hair and slides their lips together once more, pressing his tongue into Pitch's mouth. Pitch pushes back and Jack willingly cedes control.

Pulling back, Pitch grins at him and then starts to kiss his way down Jack's body. He pauses at his nipples, teasing at one with his tongue. It's a shock of pleasure and Jack gasps, hands curling in the sheets.

"Sensitive today, Jack?"

"I'm always sensitive," Jack says, the last syllable hitching high and breathless as Pitch takes his nipple between his teeth and bites gently.

"And to what do I owe this show of beauty?" Pitch asks and then spends a moment licking and sucking on Jack's nipple, a hand going to his other nipple and squeezing. Under these ministrations, Jack's wits are scattered and it's impossible to answer; but Pitch continues, "You are always beautiful, of course, but this is something special. Something you're doing for me, moreover, and that makes it more special still. I've been wondering about asking you for a portrait; perhaps I should have you painted like this, naked and willing and mine, all mine."

"I'm always yours," Jack gasps, finding his voice. "And that's why- I want to be yours. I want to give you something special. I want you- I want you inside me."

Pitch lifts his head and looks up at Jack with wide golden eyes, his mouth open in surprise. Jack touches his cheek and smiles at him.

"Over these past few weeks I've changed," Jack says. "Before, everything's been so - tainted - by _how_ I got here, that I never really appreciated the fact that I _am_ here. That I've got real friends - Onyx and Amber and Kal and Monty. I've got all these people that care about me, and I'm in this incredible country, and I've started to use my magic today... I feel so lucky. But most of all, I've got you. You don't care about my moods, and you comfort me when I'm upset - you don't even care that I'm kind of using you to help me forget. You just - care."

"You're my courtesan, Jack," Pitch says, cupping Jack's cheek, then letting his hand slide down to Jack's collar, tracing the edge before hooking a finger around the ring and pulling him in for a brief kiss that steals Jack's breath. "I would do anything for you."

"I know you would. And that's what I've been thinking about. That- protectiveness. And the possessiveness. And just- everything. I've been taking my life here for granted. Been so caught up in what I've lost that I've not been paying enough attention to what I have. And what I have is so much better than anything I've lost."

Pitch's finger is still curled around the ring of Jack's collar, and when he swallows the finger moves against his throat.

"And that makes you want me inside you?"

Jack groans, his cock throbbing to hear those words in Pitch's velvet voice. "Yes. I feel safe. I feel at home. And I want you."

"You want me," Pitch murmurs. "So not just anyone would do? You want _me_?"

"Yes," Jack whispers.

Pitch's eyes flare golden and he captures Jack's lips, steals his breath and makes his heartbeat race.

Pitch makes his way down Jack's body, pushing his legs apart so that he can lick at Jack's shaft, taking the head in his mouth and reducing Jack to a shivering, moaning mess in a matter of moments. Gently squeezing his balls makes him gasp and sink further into the pillows. His desire spirals up and up, thrums and shivers. He pays a little more attention to his cock but seems to sense that Jack can't take much more of this tonight.

"If you're sure you want this, hand me the oil."

Without even a moment of hesitation, Jack does.

He closes his eyes as Pitch starts to open him up, fingers sliding smoothly into him, pleasure hitching with each ragged breath.

Pitch stands for a moment so that he can strip, and Jack groans at the sight of his cock jutting proudly from his body.

"How do you want to do this?" Pitch asks. "It might be easier if you're on your hands and knees-"

"I want to see you," Jack whispers.

Nodding, Pitch climbs on top of him, hooking a knee over his shoulder. "Like this?"

Jack nods, and presses the oil into Pitch's hand before he can ask again if Jack is sure.

He watches Pitch drip oil onto his cock, feeling his heartbeat flutter in his throat like a half-mad butterfly. Thoughts flutter too - _He's so big_ and _it's going to hurt_ - but they're overwhelmed by the knowledge that he wants this, that he _needs_ this.

The feel of Pitch's cock against his hole makes nerves leap in Jack's chest, but he breathes through it, dips into a well of calm.

"Do you want me to bind you?"

"Not this time," Jack whispers. "I want to touch you."

"And you're sure?"

"I'm sure," Jack whispers, and Pitch presses in.

A flash of pain threatens to cut its way through Jack's pleasure but he forces himself to breathe deep and slow. The larger toy hurt at first, but it melted into the fiercest pleasure Jack has ever felt. This will be the same.

"Are you alright?" Pitch asks, and when Jack nods, he pushes in another inch, forces a gasp from Jack.

"I'm alright, I'm alright," he whispers, breathing, forcing himself to relax. "I'm alright. More."

Another inch, slowly, Pitch holding Jack's gaze. Pain and pleasure are a whirlwind in Jack, it hurts, it makes his dick ache, he wants more, he wants less. He's _shaking_, and gasping, and he's clutching Pitch's forearms so tightly that his nails are drawing blood. Pitch's breath is coming quickly now.

"_So tight_," he whispers, and his lips brush against Jack's.

Jack can only make a vague noise of agreement and then Pitch pulls back- "Wait-" Jack starts, but Pitch slides back in, just that same few inches, and the word melts into a moan. He thrusts again, that same shallow thrust, and Jack's nails dig into Pitch's arms again. He thrusts again, and again, and the balance shifts toward pleasure and Jack sobs, letting his head fall back.

"Jack-"

"'s good," he manages to choke out.

"But-"

"Don't stop," Jack says, his voice breaking and wishing he were brave enough to thrust his hips up.

A pause, and then Pitch continues his pace, slowly and shallow, slowly growing deeper with a spike of pain that is almost instantly washed away by pleasure. Jack's cheeks are wet, his makeup must be a mess, but when he opens his eyes Pitch is looking down at him with wonder.

"You really want me," he whispers, and Jack can only sob as he smiles, reaching up to pull Pitch down for a kiss.

"Of course I do," he says, another, deeper thrust forcing a gasp from him. "I want you so much. I-" Whatever he was going to say dissolves as he feels Pitch's hips against his own. Silence and stillness reigns for a heartbeat. "You're inside me. All the way."

"I am." Pitch's voice is a whisper, just as Jack's is.

"Pitch," Jack says, and kisses him again, his chest feeling with golden warmth, joy and _rightness_ echoing in him.

"Jack," Pitch says as he starts to slowly thrust into him, holding his gaze all the while, watching for any sign that Jack wants him to stop.

He doesn't get it.

Despite the tears and the pain, the closeness that he feels overwhelms it all. Pleasure shimmers in him like frost and he wants this to last forever - not even the pleasure but the closeness, the feeling that Pitch is a part of him, that he is a part of Pitch, and the deep sense of belonging that comes with it.

But the pleasure builds and builds to an unstable precipice and he can feel himself start to topple.

"I- I'm-"

"Come for me," Pitch says, his voice utterly wrecked, and with a cry, Jack does. It ripples through him, consumes him. He collapses back on the bed and just seconds later Pitch's own cry rends the air as he spills his seed inside Jack. The thought makes Jack whimper again, feeling raw and overwhelmed, and he lies there for a few moments, breath coming ragged.

When he opens his eyes, Pitch's head is in the crook of Jack's neck, his hands resting on his shoulders. Jack gasps when he sees that his forearms are not only bloody from Jack's nails, but covered in a thin, quickly-melting sheen of frost.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, and Pitch lifts his head to smile at him tiredly.

"I think you could use a little more control of your magic, Jack."

There's no anger in his voice, only gentle humour, and Jack feels the spike of tension flatline. "I guess so."

"As for the nail marks - if they scar, which I doubt, it is a mark I shall wear most proudly."

Jack feels heat in his cheeks and he grins. "You won't be able to look at them without remembering what it's like to be inside me."

Pitch gazes at them. "I think you've doomed me to getting instantly hard every time I look at my own arms."

Jack's laugh is muffled when Pitch kisses him, soft and sweet and slow. They lie there, tangled up in each other, just smiling and _happy_. Jack winces when Pitch pulls out of him.

"I'll clean you up; I'll look after you," Pitch promises, and Jack knows that there is so much more than just wiping him clean. He goes to the bathroom and returns with a warm, wet towel. When Jack shifts he gasps, partly from the ache inside him but mostly because he can feel Pitch's seed trickle out of him. He looks at Pitch with wide eyes, but Pitch only smiles softly, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Mine," he says.

"Yours," Jack whispers as Pitch cleans him up. "Yours," he says, and means it.

* * *

A/N: Ahhh, I'm so sorry about being late again so soon after last time! I've been having some personal issues going on lately, though I will get back to updating this on time from now on.

There has also been some amazing fanart over on the tumblr blog! The link is on my profile, you really should check it out :3 There's also some photos of my work-in-progress gothic lolita Jack Frost that I'm making for Anime Boston :3 (If you're going we should meet up!)

As ever, thank you so much for reading, and for your support *hearts*


	13. Chapter 13

Jack is on his knees at Pitch's side, comfortable in a nest of cushions.

Pitch is having breakfast with the Fintish ambassador from Iscadin. He asked if Jack would be willing to do this for him, as a show of his power. Jack had agreed, eager for an opportunity to listen in to some of these political discussions.

It's less interesting than he had hoped.

They're in one of the reception rooms on the ground floor of the palace, with a low fire flickering in the hearth and sunlight streaming through the open windows. The warmth is making Jack sleepy, and the conversation isn't helping. He has little idea what either one of them is talking about, though the way Pitch interacts with the ambassador is fascinating. He's being extraordinarily pleasant and polite, voice soft, words full of flattery, apologising when he refuses to make concessions. He is refusing to bow to any demands from the ambassador, but he's being so _nice_ about it that he's starting to sway the discussion towards his own viewpoint. The ambassador, of course, is a veteran and very good at what he does - but Pitch is better. Whenever the ambassador tries to bring the conversation back to his own demands Pitch gently rebuffs him. Slowly, step by step, the ambassador is being pushed backwards, exactly where Pitch wants him. Jack is impressed.

As they discuss the finer points of the meeting in Blenkeld, Jack's mind starts to wander. Pitch has – reluctantly – agreed to let Jack go to Blenkeld with him. The promise of sex in another bed was too enticing - and not only to Pitch. Jack's excited to see the city, too. Amber has told him how different it is to Iscadin. It's a border city on the edges of the great badlands, a place of sand and rock with buildings cut into sandy cliff faces, and dunes, and strange plants dotting the landscape. He and Amber have already planned trips to see them; now all they have to do is get Pitch to agree to it.

Pitch tugs on Jack's leash lightly to get his attention, and when Jack looks up he sees Pitch pluck a grape from the bunch on the table. The ambassador is still talking and Pitch is clearly as bored as Jack.

When he feeds him the grape, Jack lets his tongue dart out against his fingers. Jack can feel Pitch's thigh tense where it rests against his shoulder. When Pitch glances down, Jack responds with a wide and mischievous grin. Pitch has to force his attention back to the ambassador, but his hand is still tight around Jack's leash.

There is more discussion and the more feeding of grapes. From his seated position Jack can see that Pitch is hard in his trousers, the outline of his cock clear against the fabric. He wants to touch, to taste. Just the sight of it is enough to get Jack hard, and his thoughts are full of what they will do when the meeting ends.

The ambassador pushes some papers over to Pitch, who moves his hand away from Jack to leaf through them. When Jack glances up he is startled to see the ambassador looking at him with a lecherous twist of a smile. The gaze lingers on his body like an unwelcome touch, and the hairs on the back of Jack's neck rise.

His gaze jumps to Jack's and his smile is oily, but Jack looks back coldly. The smugness in the ambassador's face wavers, and Jack cools the air in the room; enough that Pitch is warm enough in his velvet doublet, but the ambassador is uncomfortably cold in his thin shirt. The man gets the message and his gaze drops. Considering the battle won, Jack feels a grim sense of victory, but mostly he just wants the man gone.

After Pitch hands the papers back, he tries to feed Jack another grape, but the ambassador's lechery has stolen the fun from it and Jack leans away. When Pitch flashes a concerned look at him, Jack manages half a smile. Pitch's frown deepens, and he takes Jack's hand before turning back to the ambassador. He loses a little of his niceness, and though his words remain pleasant there's a dagger hidden in them.

The ambassador seems to have lost his taste for argument, and gives in to Pitch's demands.

It isn't long until he leaves, and Jack sighs his relief.

"What's the matter?" Pitch asks as soon as the door is shut, turning in his seat to take both of Jack's hands.

"Nothing, really. I just didn't like that ambassador very much." Pushing himself up, Jack settles in Pitch's lap, pressing their foreheads together and letting the touch calm him.

"What did he do?" Pitch pulls back sharply to look at Jack, the beginnings of fury flickering in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter," Jack says with a shrug, eager to forget the whole thing. "I handled it."

"I noticed that you made it colder. But I wish I'd noticed _him_."

Jack laughs. "It's probably for the best you didn't. You'd probably have overreacted."

"Me? Overreact? Surely you're thinking of someone else."

"Surely," Jack says with a grin and leans in for a kiss. It starts slow, and Jack realises that Pitch is letting him lead. Licking, biting, exploring, Jack can feel the slight pull on his collar from where Pitch still holds the leash tightly, and he licks against Pitch's tongue.

"I've missed this," Jack says, running his hand over the leash.

"I'd be delighted to use it more often, if you like."

"I like that you trust me enough not to use it, too."

Pitch laughs and leans in for another kiss that quickly deepens. Jack remembers his earlier thoughts and the want comes surging back.

"I want to taste you," Jack says, pressing his hand to Pitch's cock and squeezing gently.

Pitch blinks and then smiles widely. "Then please, Jack, don't let me stop you." He loosens his hold on Jack's leash to give him more room to move, and Jack slides to the floor, pushing Pitch's legs wide. With both hands resting on the arms of his chair, Pitch looks down at Jack, waiting.

For a moment all Jack can do is look up at him, mouth dry and throat tight. A deep breath, and Jack puts a confident smile into place. And why not? He's been practicing and if the increasing volume of Pitch's cries are any indication, he's gotten rather good at getting Pitch to come in his mouth.

A last flicker of nerves melt away when he unlaces the tie of Pitch's trews and pulls out his cock, overcome by a surge of desire.

Leaning in, he wraps a hand around the base to hold it steady. The heat of it makes him shiver, and he licks a wet line up the shaft before sliding his lips over the head. His head bobs as he works, taking a little more each time as he tries to improve on his previous attempts. Mere minutes in, Pitch is breathless, gasping, and Jack feels a spike of excitement; if Pitch is close to coming, this will be the quickest so far.

Knowing that Pitch is so close to coming makes Jacks cock throb, but he forces himself to concentrate. He sucks in his cheeks, uses his hands, looks up: all these things that he knows Pitch likes, that he knows feel good.

And then Pitch is coming on Jack's tongue, on his lips, a stifled cry filling the air. His chest is heaving as he tries to regain the breath that Jack's actions have stolen from him, and little earthquakes shake his limbs.

"Jack," Pitch whispers, looking down at him with lidded eyes. "You get better and better at that each time."

Tugging on the leash, he pulls Jack back up onto his lap. He reaches down to pull aside Jack's gossamer robe and withdraws Jack's cock, hard and aching and already slick.

"You like the taste of me, don't you?" Pitch asks as he starts to stroke Jack's cock, firm and fast, and Jack is drowning in pleasure in seconds.

"I love it," he whispers, resting his hands on Pitch's shoulders, squeezing as the pleasure hitches a notch. "The weight of it on my tongue - and knowing that it's _y-you_-" he cries out as Pitch increases speed and pressure both and words are lost to him.

When he comes he finds that he couldn't care less if the guards outside can hear him.

* * *

Activity in the palace increases.

The trip to Blenkeld is an important event, and a long one, and both of those require a lot of planning. Jack just wants to _go_.

Since the palace is busy and tempers are short, Jack and Kal are outside. Walking at the edge of the forest, Jack kicks at the piles of fire-coloured leaves in his awkward boots.

"If I really try, though, I think Jethryn will dim the binding again soon."

"Really?" Kal looks doubtful.

"I've been working hard, and he keeps saying how impressed he is. It's been two weeks already-"

"Yes, but do you have complete control over the magic that's been unbound?"

A blush heats Jack's cheeks. Whenever Pitch makes him come, he inevitably spills ice as well as his seed. At first he tried to keep his hands off Pitch, but then Pitch whispered that he liked it, that physical proof of making Jack lose all control. And so each climax results in Pitch bearing frost markings of his own.

"Not _complete_."

"There you have it. You underestimate people who are nice to you, Jack. Jethryn is a good man, but he's no pushover."

Jack groans and concentrates on a pile of fallen leaves, making them dance in a small, colourful whirlwind. "I just want more," he says quietly. "I feel like I'm straining at the bit. I don't want to be bound." Jack pauses. "Not like that, anyway."

Kal grins. "I thought those were rope marks on your arms."

Jack glares at him and picks up a nearby fallen branch and raps him in the shoulder with it. "Less cheek, Kal, or I'll have to teach you a lesson."

"If you that's how you want it, you better be ready to lose," Kal says with a grin, picking up a branch of his own and stepping into a fighting pose.

Jack cocks an eyebrow, letting his left foot slide back and bending his knees. Bringing his stick in front of him, he grins. "You might be surprised," he says, and steps forward to attack. Kal laughs and parries his thrust before coming in for an attack of his own.

The fight doesn't last long - they're both laughing too much - but it's _fun_.

When Kal gets past his guard, jabbing him lightly in the stomach, Jack staggers back dramatically until his back is up against a tree.

"You got me!" He puts the back of his hand to his forehead and slides down the trunk. "Oh, cruel fate!"

"It's nothing to do with fate, it's pure talent," Kal says, putting his stick sword over his shoulder with a cocky smile.

Jack surges to his feet and jabs at Kal's chest. Kal steps back, open mouthed.

"You cheater!"

"It's not cheating, it's pure talent."

"Oh, that's it, prepare yourself Jack-"

The blast of a horn rips through the air, grabbing their attention.

"Lord Tarr must have arrived," Kal says, turning back to the palace and shielding his eyes against the sun. "He always likes to make an entrance."

"Can we go and see?"

Kal looks thoughtful for a moment and then breaks into a grin. "The west turret looks down over the main doors, we should be able to see everything from there."

Jack looks up at the palace and for a moment he's filled with the reckless urge to carry them on the wind. Instead he races Kal to the palace, laughing up the curving staircase and barring each other's way with their stick-swords. Jack reaches the top and pushes through the door first, and turns to declare his victory.

But the wind-

It's _strong_ up here, stronger than he's ever felt it and it drowns out everything else. Half closing his eyes he connects with it, not entirely willingly, feels his feet lift off the stone floor-

And then a tug on his robe. Startled, he blinks, coming out of his half-trance to see Kal looking up at him with wide eyes, hand curled in Jack's robe.

"I don't think you should be doing that so high up," he says in a thin voice. "Maybe we shouldn't have come here."

"No," Jack says quickly, pushing on the wind to make it drop him. "It's alright. I'm in control."

Kal frowns as if he doesn't quite believe him. Jack's not sure he believes himself.

Again the horn bellows out, closer now. Stepping closer to the parapet and keeping a tight rein on his magic, Jack sees that Tarr's company are a sight to behold. When Jack went to Iscadin with Pitch, it was a low-key affair. No fanfare and no flying of the colours, the grand carriage was the only indication that the king was travelling.

Lord Tarr has banners and pennants that flutter in the wind, blue with some kind of yellow bird, wings outstretched. The bright colours are such a change from the usual blacks and golds of Umbra that it seems almost childish, gaudy.

There are fifteen people, all ahorse, and they approach the steps to the palace slowly. Onyx stands on the steps, waiting, shifting her stance impatiently. When finally her father finally drops down from his horse, he embraces her and she returns it stiffly. She gestures at the door and Lord Tarr nods, waving his entourage to him before they finally go into the palace.

"Does Onyx not get along with her father?" Jack asks, glancing at Kal, who shrugs.

"I think they're just very different people. She's so serious and he's – well, not. Don't misunderstand me: he was a fearsome war general, and he protects the north well, but he's a little - extravagant. I think that annoys her."

Jack knows all about not getting along with one's father, and his lips thin. "Let's go back into the forest," he says to Kal. "I want to see that stone circle you were telling me about."

Perhaps one day he will have to think about his father, but not when there are so many wonderful distractions in the world.

* * *

It's been three days since Tarr and his people arrived. Pitch's days have been full of meetings, and Jack and Kal's days have been full of sneaking around the palace trying to eavesdrop. It was a good plan until Alden found them. He admonished them in an angry whisper, rolling his eyes at Kal's insincere hurt expression.

Jack hadn't understood much of what they overheard, and even Kal's explanations failed to clear up his confusion. As much as Pitch dislikes politics, he is good at it; Jack counts himself lucky that as a courtesan, he needn't bother himself with it.

He's in his own rooms now, lounging on his sofa on the balcony. Kal will be collecting him shortly to escort him to a feast that Lord Tarr is hosting.

Amber designed an outfit just for the occasion, fashioned in the northern style, but still clearly a courtesan's robe. Soft creamy fabric drops to the floor, slit up either side to show black trews. A fur-edged sash is draped across his body, tucked into a thick leather belt. It's different, to be sure, but Jack rather likes it. Tilting his head, he smiles. It makes him look roguish. Pirate-like. All he needs is a scar and he's set.

She left quickly, wanting to spend the evening with Onyx. While Amber will be going to Blenkeld to dress Pitch, Onyx is staying to rule in Pitch's stead. They could be apart for up to a fortnight, and Jack doesn't envy them that.

Jack shifts on his sofa, fidgeting with the fur trim. The main purpose of this feast is to allow those of Selenan descent to meet him, and though Jack has his concerns about that, his curiosity overrides it. How similar are they to people in Lunanoff? Which of their cultures is most similar to Selena? He's curious as to their reactions to him, too, even if they are negative. Will they think of him as looking like King Jokul? As the moon god? Or as a prince of Lunanoff, or as a courtesan? He's not even sure what he would like best - they're all so limiting, tiny facets that don't even begin to describe the whole. Perhaps he can show them something of the real Jack.

There's a knock at the door, and then Kal comes in, bereft of his usual smile. Jack is startled to see him not in a tunic but in leather armour, a shortsword by his side.

"Before we go, I want to tell you that the king has asked me to guard you well," Kal says, and Jack's eyebrows raise.

"But Tarr is his warden of the north. Surely he trusts him."

"Tarr was warden of the north before the king was crowned, but Pitch allowed him to keep his position - he knows Tarr well and trusts him. But some of these others he knows only by name. They're here only because they are powerful journey mages. I'll be by your side at all times."

"Are you trying to make me nervous?"

"I'm just trying to make you aware," Kal says with a shrug. "The king will be there as well as myself and the guards. Even if someone did try to hurt you, we'd stop them before they were within ten feet of you."

Jack has no response other than a nod. Pitch's usual overprotectiveness? Or something more? His concerns about meeting the Selenans spark into life again, and they flap at him all the way to the state room. But when he sees Pitch waiting for them, hands on hips and clearly annoyed, he smiles.

"Are we late?" He rises onto tiptoes to kiss Pitch in greeting.

"Yes," Pitch says, but returns the kiss. "Kal, you are to stay by Jack's side at all times, is that clear?"

"Yes, your highness."

"Ready?"

Jack nods, and Pitch pushes open the door.

The first thing that Jack notices is that the room is _warm_, uncomfortably so. A fire roars in the hearth, huge and hungry, and many candles sit on tables and windowsills. In his thick leather armour, Kal is obviously too warm, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. When Jack cools the air around them he throws Jack a grateful smile. Pitch's expression is neutral, but a touch to the small of Jack's back shows his gratitude.

The room is clad in Tarr's colours, that yellow bird on a field of dark blue. This close Jack can see the bird's ferocious beak and sharp claws. Furs are draped over every chair, a huge tapestry hung on one wall, and the normally understated palace is almost unrecognisable.

Chatter in the room breaks off, and there's a flutter of curtsies and bows towards Pitch.

Tarr comes up to them with a wide smile. "Ah, our guests of honour! Jack, Pitch, welcome. Please, come take your seats."

When they arrive at the top table, a servant brings over tankards of ale for Pitch and Jack, not looking at either of them and bowing awkwardly before scurrying away. They sit, but Kal remains standing, stiff and silent by Jack's side.

Looking out at the crowd, Jack sees the highest concentration of lowborn Umbrans since he arrived on the planet, and all of them are staring at Jack and Pitch. Although they're not just Umbrans: all of them are of Selenan heritage. There are fewer of them than arrived a few days ago; Jack wonders where they are.

Tarr looks out at the crowd with a wide smile and claps Pitch on the shoulder.

"We're graced by the presence of the king and his courtesan," he booms. "We'll have a busy day tomorrow but tonight we feast! We'll show these fancy southerners – and this moon prince – a real party!"

"My thanks for the invitation to the feast, and for your assistance with the journey to Blenkeld," Pitch says. "The kindness and generosity of the north is well known throughout Umbra, even to this _fancy southerner_. To you and yours." He raises the tankard and so do the northerners.

With an echoing cry of _to you and yours!_ they drink deep. Jack joins them, taking a gulp of the hoppy ale.

"Now!" Tarr claps his hands together. "Before the food is served, we would like to present you both with gifts. As my journey mages are of Selenan ancestry, they wished to show their respects to Jack, and brought a little something for him. But of course there is a gift for you as well, Pitch - it wouldn't do to give the courtesan a gift with nothing for the king!"

Tarr waves up one of the men from the main table, who approaches and bows deeply to the king.

"Lord Tarr had the greatest bladesmith in the north design a blade fitting for our king. Many hours were spent over the anvil, shaping the finest steel. For you, King Pitch."

Getting to his knees, he lifts up a sword, well-wrapped in black fabric. Pitch takes it from him and lays it on the table, deftly unwrapping it. It is long, fitting for Pitch's height, and the scabbard is leather and bronze. Pitch's fingers wrap around the hilt and he draws it. Firelight flashes on the blade, and unfamiliar sigils spill down the fuller.

As Pitch tests the weight of it, Jack decides that Pitch is very attractive with a sword in his hand, and wonders if he would give him some fencing lessons. Fencing lessons that would no doubt end with Jack on his back beneath Pitch and their clothes scattered on the floor; the best kind of lesson.

"Thank you," Pitch says, sheathing the sword. "This is a very fine blade. I would be honoured to wear this by my side. My compliments to the smith."

"And now Jack's gift," Tarr says, beckoning a girl forward. She gets to her feet and walks slowly forward, her green eyes wide and focused on Jack.

"P-Prince Jackson-"

"Not a prince, and not Jackson," he says. "Call me Jack."

She nods, and lifts her hands. In them, Jack sees a large bed of milky crystal spikes. "I was going to put this in the temple, as a gift for the moon god, but when I found out we would be meeting you-" she pauses and swallows, her smile wavering. "You look so much like him," she adds in a whisper, and drops to one knee, bowing her head and offering him the crystal in outstretched hands.

For a moment, Jack can only gape. He has looked like the moon god all his life, but he has never been treated like him before. He has no idea to react; he isn't even sure how he feels. Awed? Humbled? Mostly just surprised. He glances at Pitch, who looks bemused.

Turning back to the girl, Jack smiles at her, trying to calm her nerves. "I'm not a god, either. For a start, I think a god would be less perplexed by people worshipping him."

There are a few chuckles in the room; most people don't seem to share the girl's mindset.

He takes the crystal from her, thanking her, and after giving him an awkward curtsy, she takes her seat again.

"We will have more gifts for Jack when he is formally presented as courtesan, of course," Tarr says. "But for now I hope you'll accept this small gift. As well as being sacred to the moon god, it's prized for its use in healing and relaxation; when I heard about your recent illness, I knew it would be perfect for you. But now! This wouldn't be a feast without some music. Luckily two of our journey mages are also excellent musicians, and they'd like to play for you and the king."

As a man and a woman move to the back of the room, taking string instruments from their cases, Pitch reaches over and takes Jack's hand a little more tightly than normal.

"Is everything okay?" Jack asks.

"I'm not sure if I approve of other people worshipping you," Pitch murmurs, frowning at the young girl who is still throwing wide-eyed glances up at Jack.

"She doesn't mean anything by it. She's just a kid."

"Still. I should be the only one to worship you."

Jack laughs and shifts a little closer to Pitch to whisper, "If it makes you feel any better, I _much_ prefer your form of worship."

Tarr starts to explain the song the musicians are to play when the door opens. It's Onyx, and her expression is flustered. Striding in, she nods a greeting at her father and a smile to Jack before turning her attention to Pitch.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, your highness, but I need to speak to you as a matter of urgency. It will only take a few minutes, but it's regarding tomorrow."

Pitch's gaze slides to Jack and then around the room, frowning at the northerners.

"Go," Jack says. "She said it won't take long. It'll be fine."

Pitch opens his mouth but clearly doesn't wish to say anything more with Tarr listening in. "Very well." He picks up the sword and looks over at Kal. "Jack's safety is in your hands," he says very seriously.

Kal nods sharply, his face carefully blank. "Yes, your highness."

"Well!" Tarr says, frowning as Pitch follows Onyx outside. He turns to Jack with a tight smile. "Perhaps you would be willing to give us a show while we wait, Jack?"

"A show?"

"As much as we're used to ice in the north, a display of ice magic would still be a treat. You know, surely, how important ice mages are in Selenan folklore."

Jack pauses, thinking of the Ice War that Pitch mentioned; it doesn't seem to him that ice mages are as beloved as all that.

"Just a little something," Tarr says. "A special treat for us, hmm? I know we would all enjoy it."

"Please, Jack!" That's a man at the front of the room, and the cry is taken up by others. All of them look up at him, smiling and earnest. Jack glances up at Kal, who smiles and gives a one-shouldered shrug.

"Do it if you want to," he says. "Why not take the opportunity to show off a little?"

Jack looks from him to the eager audience, and his lips fall into a crooked grin. "Alright, alright," he says, lifting both hands in surrender. "I can show you some magic. Just a little, though - I don't think the king would be too happy if I made one of his state rooms into a glacier."

To the tune of delighted laughter, Jack stands and puts a hand to the wall behind them. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, partly to connect with the air and partly to build the suspense.

He glances over at Tarr and is startled to see him sit forward, watching with fierce concentration, like whatever Jack does now is vitally important. It's so at odds with Tarr's usual constant smile that it makes Jack feel off balance.

But when he turns his gaze out at the crowd, all of them are looking up at him with smiles and excitement. He feels the familiar delight of being the centre of attention - but of being in _control_ of the situation. That's what's been missing in the autumn festival and with palace gossip, he realises.

With a grin, Jack lets ice spill out over the wall. He doesn't try to shape it; he's been practicing that with Jethryn but is not yet confident. Instead he lets it take whatever shape it will, and is delighted to see it curl into fronds, echoing his markings. His reach is only ten feet or so, but it covers that part of the wall like a piece of art.

He turns back to see everyone in the room, even Tarr, staring and awestruck. Jack remembers this feeling; remembers running on the rooftops casting colours on the Dome, remembers admiring looks and cheers. He grins and takes an exaggerated bow, and the room bursts into applause.

The door swings open and Pitch pauses in the doorway, looking at Jack's frost. Taking his place by Jack's side, he kisses his temple. "That's beautiful, Jack. Although it looks like I missed a little something."

"Just a little."

"Good to have you back, your highness," Tarr says, the intensity gone or imagined. "I hope my daughter didn't bring you bad news?"

"Nothing that need disturb the feast. Apologies for making you wait."

"Not at all, not at all. But now that you're back, let the feast begin!"

Soon the room is filled with the bustle of serving, of chatter and the clanging of pots. The musicians start up their song, a jaunty tune somewhat drowned out all the other noise.

"So what _did_ Onyx want?" Jack asks. "Is everything okay?"

Pitch glances at Jack and then sighs, taking his hand where it rests on the table. "I'll tell you later."

Jack frowns, annoyed at being fobbed off; he'll make sure he _is_ told later.

The food is plentiful and delicious, and the ale even more so. There is a song of a heroic northern knight battling a dragon, and a display of magic, making a paper doll dance. It's little more than a parlour trick, and Jack's pleased to hear whispers that they preferred his own show.

When the fire is getting low, Lord Tarr calls an end to the feast, regretting that it can't go on until dawn like a traditional northern feast. They say their thanks and goodbyes.

Out in the hallway, Pitch dismisses Kal, who gives a bow to Pitch and a grin to Jack before taking his leave.

Pitch entwines his fingers with Jack's and they start their walk to Pitch's rooms.

"So what did Onyx say?"

Pitch looks down at him and smiles. "Persistent, aren't you?" His smile drops and he sighs. "There have been some border skirmishes near Blenkeld. Being that the Fintish king is already on his way, there's no way of delaying the meeting; in any case we need to meet now or the tides will be too rough to make the sail should we agree to come to their defence."

"Do you think those attacks are because of the Fintish king's visit? Or yours?"

"Perhaps, but probably not. They happen at least once a year. We've increased the guard but still - I don't want you to come."

"What? But I was looking forward to it so much." Jack stops, heart sinking. Does Pitch not _want_ him to go? Two weeks is so long to be apart, too long. Anxiety starts to whisper in Jack's ear, _what if his passions cool while we're apart_. He knows how unlikely that is, he _knows_, but it doesn't stop the whispering doubts. "I don't want to be away from you for so long. Do you?"

"Of course not. But it isn't safe, Jack. As loathe as I am to be away from you, I'd much rather that than put you at risk."

Jack sulks all the way to Pitch's chambers, but it's clear that Pitch isn't going to change his mind.

"I'll try to be home as soon as I can," Pitch says, taking the metal circlet from Jack's head and putting it on the dresser. He kisses him tenderly, and Jack's annoyance melts under the sweetness of it.

"You better," he grumbles, and pulls Pitch to their bed.

* * *

Jack wakes, sudden but easy. Something pulls at him like a sweet song. It's not music though, it's a _feeling_, like his connection to the wind but more so.

He pushes to his feet, careful not to wake Pitch, and pads softly over to the window. Pulling at the gap in the curtains, instantly he sees what woke him.

The half-dark world of early morning is covered in white. Snow blankets the ground, the trees, the walls. Large flakes drift down, elegant and unhurried.

For a moment all Jack can do is stare, joy and wonder dawning in him.

He closes his eyes, tries to connect with the snow. It's not like the wind; where the wind is playful and full of movement, the snow is serene and still, and it makes a deep peace settle in Jack.

Jack hears Pitch's footsteps, whispers in the shadows. Pitch steps close to him, pressing himself against Jack's back. He wraps the blanket draped over his shoulders over Jack, too, his arms around his waist.

"What are you doing?"

"I - felt something. And when I came to the window it was snowing."

"Felt something?"

"I don't know. Like - something important was happening. Foolish, I know."

"Not really. Your magic is centred on ice and snow. Even though the collar still binds most of your magic, any inherent abilities - including not minding cold - won't be affected."

Since he's never seen snow before Jack can't say he's ever experienced quite this feeling. But it's a beautiful thing to watch the snow fall with Pitch's arms around him.

"Can we go outside?" Jack asks, leaning deeper into Pitch's embrace.

"Outside?"

"To my garden, maybe. You're going away tomorrow-" _and not taking me with you_ "-so it might be our only chance to enjoy the snow together."

"Trust me, Jack, there'll be many more chances. This is only the first of the snows."

"Yes," Jack says, turning around in Pitch's arms to look up at him. "And first times are special."

Pitch pauses and then then the corner of his lip twitches upwards. "And the second and sixth and tenth, I should hope."

Jack grins. "Mmm, the eighth time was particularly special. But you know what I mean. Please, Pitch."

With a sigh, Pitch gives in and nods. Jack throws his arms around Pitch's neck and kisses him soundly. When he pulls back he goes to the dressing room to pull on trews and blue-and-silver tunic.

"If we're going out in the snow you're wearing more than that," Pitch says as he dresses.

"But-"

"This is not something I'll give way on."

A blue cloak with delicate frost-like embroidery is handed to him, along with a pair of boots. Jack frowns at them, but that's not so bad as payment for a walk in the snow with his king.

When they step out into the corridor the guards startle to a salute with a metallic clatter. "Your highness?"

"We're going for a walk," Pitch says, as though walks in the dark hours of a snowy morning are entirely normal.

"W-would you like a guard?"

"No."

Jack is grateful - he doesn't want anyone else's presence to spoil this. This is _their_ moment.

When they step outside, the world is more silent than anything Jack's ever known. The air is alive with snow, falling in thick flakes that meander slowly downward. Everything is covered in a pristine white blanket. For a moment Jack just looks out at it.

Snow.

Snow!

He steps forward, feels the give under his boot. It's so soft, almost like nothing at all, and his foot sinks in effortlessly. He crouches and scoops up a handful, letting it fall through his fingers.

There's no room in him for anything but joy and he laughs, looking up at Pitch. Snowflakes are splashes of white in his hair, on his cloak, and his smile is so soft, so gentle. For a moment Jack feels like his heart is being squeezed, in a good way.

When they arrive at the garden and Pitch takes out the key, Jack looks back at the way they came. There is nothing but the dim light of dawn and the cold quiet of snow. It feels like something secret, like this early morning world is just for them.

The lock clicks open and they step into the garden. Just a few months ago it was so colourful but now everything is covered in white, save for a few bare branches peeking through the snow.

Jack grins at the unbroken snow and runs forward, laughing as he breaks through, leaving a zig zag of footprints behind him.

Stomping into a pile of snow banked up against the wall, Jack's heart races and joy leaps in him. He flicks his fingers against a branch and watches the snow fall from it.

"I'm going to take my boots off," Jack says, bending over to undo the laces.

"Jack-"

"Just for a little while. I can put them on again later. "

He slides off the left boot first, and lets his foot rest lightly on the surface of the snow for a moment without breaking the surface. He feels the cold of it but there's no discomfort. He feels snow between his toes and gives a delighted laugh. Hurriedly he takes off the other boot and runs again, this time feeling light and free. Hopping onto the bench, he closes his eyes and breathes deep, in and out, in and out. He lets his awareness spread out, taking in the snow. It makes him ache for more, and he feels the barrier of the collar most keenly. It's not like with the wind, a true interaction - he would need for the barrier to be lowered more, so that he could touch the clouds with his magic - but it's a connection, and it's beautiful.

"Jack?" Pitch's voice is close and concerned, and when Jack opens his eyes he sees that Pitch is standing beside the bench, looking up at him, the snow swirling around him. _He's_ beautiful too, and Jack smiles down at him. He's startled when his laugh comes out as a sob, and when he touches his cheeks he feels wetness there.

"I'm okay," he tells Pitch, and lifts a hand, summoning a little wind to capture a snowflake and send it towards Pitch. It land on his lips and he smiles. "It's just... I'm happy. Here, with you, in my garden in the snow. It's kind of perfect."

"It is," Pitch says softly, putting his hands to Jack's waist and lifting him. Jack yelps but stays still, allowing Pitch to lower him down.

When his feet are on the ground, Jack curls his hands in Pitch's cloak and pulls him backwards until his own back is up against a wall once covered in flowers. He grins up at Pitch.

"Familiar?"

"Intimately," Pitch says, fond, and kisses him. Jack's hands curl around the back of Pitch's neck, carding through the short hair at the base of his neck. Between kisses their frozen breath becomes one white cloud.

Pitch's tongue presses between Jack's lips; Jack's hands slide down Pitch's back to his ass, pressing him closer. He's so warm that it makes Jack feel like he's melting, or sinking.

He feels _relaxed_.

"I want you," he whispers. "I want you to make me come."

Pitch's chuckle rumbles against Jack's chest. "Do you now? Does the snow make you want me?"

"I _always_ want you."

A pause, just for a moment, when Pitch pulls back to look at Jack. Surprise in his eyes turns to golden heat and then Pitch is biting at Jack's lips, sharp little sparks of pain that make Jack shiver. When Jack bites back with gentle teasing nips, Pitch pulls on Jack's hair.

"Now, now," he purrs. "If we're doing this, we're doing it my way."

"Yes, my king," Jack says, partly because he knows Pitch likes it but mostly because he means it.

It has a distinct effect on Pitch as it always does, making want and affection blaze in his eyes, and making him lean in for a wet and heated kiss. Jack's hands knead the flesh of Pitch's buttocks. It makes Pitch's hips buck forward, his hard cock jutting into Jack's stomach.

"Less of that," he whispers between kisses, pressing one of Jack's hands, then the other, against the wall. Feeling a tug on his cuffs, Jack glances up to see a shadow wrapping around the ring of each, holding him firmly in place.

He moans, a broken and desperate. It feels so good to be bound. Already feeling so _right_ here in the snow with Pitch, knowing that Pitch likes it well enough to bind him here takes away his whispering worries about inconveniencing him. He lets the worries ebb away and smiles up at Pitch.

Pitch kisses him gently. "You're sure you're not cold?"

Jack nods, and Pitch gets to his knees.

"Oh," Jack whispers as Pitch looks up at him, as worshipful as the Selenan girl. But instead of worshipping him as a god or a prince, Pitch is worshipping him as a courtesan, as a man, as the difference is as vast as the sky.

Pitch pushes Jack's legs further apart, and a whisper over Jack's ankles makes him look down to see shadow wrapped around them. Bound wrist and ankle, completely at Pitch's mercy and completely safe, Jack feels all his scattered thoughts and feelings about meeting the Selenans, about being without Pitch for the next few weeks, everything just settles like snow, and Jack relaxes into his bonds. Pitch must see it, for he smiles and strokes Jack's side.

"That's good," he says. "Let me take care of you, Jack. I'll always take care of you."

"I know. I'm safe with you."

He watches as his king pushes Jack's trews down enough so that he can pull his cock out. Snow still swirls around them as Pitch slides his tongue along the shaft. The warmth of it is a sharp and delicious contrast to the cold.

Jack moans and closes his eyes, breathing in gulps of cold air as Pitch works, pulling Jack deeper and deeper into pleasure. Soon Jack is lost in it, everything melting away except Pitch and how good it feels to be with him. How good it feels to be wanted.

Pitch strokes Jack as he licks at him then takes the head into his mouth. He looks up and meets Jack's eyes as he slides his lips down the shaft. His eyes so confident and in control, even in the submissive position, that Jack whimpers, shivering but not from the cold.

Sliding his other hand from where it rests on Jack's thigh, Pitch gently caresses Jack's balls, and the additional sensation is too much, too much.

Jack cries out into the morning as he comes in Pitch's mouth, pleasure washing him away until he's sagging in the restraints, whimpering as Pitch licks him carefully clean.

"You're so good, Jack," Pitch murmurs as he pushes to his feet. "You're always so good, just for me."

"For you." Jack's shaking voice is little is more than a hoarse whisper but he means it as much as he's ever meant anything.

Pitch wraps his arms around Jack's waist, supporting him, before he lets the shadow restraints fade. Jack sags gratefully against him, holding him tightly, pressing his face against his chest. He still aches to think of the next few weeks without Pitch's touch, but knowing how wanted he is eases it a little.

Pitch is proud, and he would not get on his knees for just anyone, no matter how in control he is. It means something; it means a lot.

Jack smiles against Pitch's chest as he slowly comes down, sinking back into himself.

When he feels mostly back to normal, he lifts his head and grins.

"Now it's my turn," Jack says, reaching down between them to feel Pitch's cock, obviously hard even under thick cloak and trousers.

"As wonderful as that sounds, I'd much prefer to do it inside."

"Then you better get us back to your rooms, and quickly."

"It would be my pleasure," Pitch says, and leads him into the shadows.


	14. Chapter 14

Sleigh is Jack's new favourite way to travel.

It's like flying without magic - well worth the hassle of wrapping up warm. They are on their way north, travelling to the town with the magic circle, Dun Dorus. Jack insisted that he come along for the journey. It gives him chance to spend more time with Pitch and to see a little more of Umbra.

Their journey began through the woods, silent and eerily bright with black branches exploding against a blue sky. When they broke through the remnants of the forest, the world was flat and relentlessly white. The rare tree or cottage seem startlingly out of place. They are the only ones in sight, the snow ahead as untouched as a blank canvas

Snowfall stopped hours ago and the clouds are sparse. The moon is a crescent hanging opposite a pale sun, and Jack frowns up at it. Already feeling the lonely weight of two weeks without Pitch, seeing the moon sparks his other lonelinesses. He misses Jamie. He misses Tooth, and North, and Bunny. Even after everything, he _misses_ them. He didn't have much in Lunanoff, but he aches for what he had. Nothing would make him give up his life in Umbra, but he wishes he could see them.

He looks up at Pitch, who is frowning as he reads through notes about his meetings. He wears a greatcoat adorned with subtle embroidery, with epaulettes and small golden buttons. The boots are heavy and the overall effect is one of a military uniform, like Pitch is going into battle. The thought makes Jack uneasy and he reaches for Pitch's hand, as though that might keep him here, safe by Jack's side. After all, if Blenkeld is really so dangerous, it's dangerous for Pitch, too.

But he has his magic, and a shadow army is much more effective than a breeze or a smattering of frost.

Jack bites down on a sigh. He doesn't want Pitch to go, for so many reasons. Pitch's presence makes Jack feel safe; the way he looks at him makes him feel special. Gentle kisses, holding hands - that is what he'll miss.

Shifting closer to him, there's a twinge in Jack's thighs from the night before, when Pitch truly gave him something to remember him by. Jack smiles; he'll miss that most of all. When he links their arms, Pitch looks up from his reading with a smile.

"You asked if you could journey to Dun Dorus by sleigh rather than shadows so that you could watch the world go by, so what's this?"

"I guess I find you more interesting to look at."

Pitch's snark melts into softness and he runs a finger down Jack's jawline. "I'm never sure if you're serious when you say things like that. I'll miss you, Jack."

"So take me with you. I could be a show of power, like with the ambassador. That's one of my jobs, right? And another of my jobs - well, I'm sure your bed in Blenkeld is lonely for one person."

Even through all of the layers of clothing, Jack feels Pitch tense. His eyes dart to see Pitch looking coolly down at him. "Perhaps you'll enjoy these two weeks more than you think. Most people enjoy a vacation from work."

Jack's eyes widen. "I - what?" What a stupid, _stupid_ thing to say, especially right before Pitch is going to leave him. He casts desperately around, trying to think of a way to explain. "I didn't mean it like that. That's not - You're not work, Pitch."

Pitch's eyes are still cold. "Then what am I?"

_Everything_.

The thought startles Jack, but the instant it comes to him, he knows it's true. He tries to say it, but he can't; it's held back by fear. If he says it - if he shows that vulnerability and Pitch doesn't forgive him-

"You're my king," he says quietly, quickly, taking Pitch's hands willing him to see the truth in his words. "And I'm your courtesan. That's why I want to be with you."

Pitch frowns, but the coldness begins to thaw. His thumb strokes the back of Jack's hand. "And - you don't think of being with me as your job?"

"Of course not," Jack says quickly, squeezing Pitch's hands. "Not at all. I just- I love it. I especially loved last night," he adds, and that summons a twitch of a smile. "So is that a yes? I can come with you?"

A moment ticks by and Pitch's smile warms, melting the last of the frown. With a sigh, he combs his fingers through Jack's hair. "You truly are persistent," he says. "You would be a very valuable show of power, but I weighed that up against the danger and decided it wasn't worth the risk. As much as we need the Fintish minerals, they need our money. I don't think their terms will be too far fetched."

"So why will it take two weeks?"

"Hopefully it won't, but the Fintish can't let themselves be seen to giving in easily to my demands - nor can I be seen to be pandering to them."

Jack makes a face. "Can't you do that - I don't know, _quickly_?"

"I will try. In any case, we'll arrive at Dun Dorus soon. There'll be a brief departure ceremony first; once that is over, I'll take you back to the palace through the shadows."

Jack opens his mouth to try arguing again about how Pitch should take him to Blenkeld, but he is wary of pushing too hard; after his misstep, he's afraid of saying something wrong. Instead he rests his head on Pitch's shoulder and watches the world go by.

After a while, a cluster of dark shapes with white caps breaks through the snow like a crowd of waking giants. As they get closer it becomes a town; closer still and Jack sees a crowd gathered to greet them, dressed warmly in cloaks and scarves. They're a mix of lowborn and highborn Umbrans, all of them pink-cheeked from the cold. The sleigh comes to a halt and Pitch clips the leash to Jack's collar. Their eyes meet, and the warmth in Pitch's slight smile eases the tension in Jack's throat.

There's a pause as the others join them, having already arrived on sure-footed horses. Onyx stands by Jack's side; a glance around finds Amber a few feet away from their party, clad in somber shades of brown and burnished gold. Kal takes his place just behind Jack, in his leather armour once again. Tarr pushes his way to Pitch's side. Jack is startled by how extravagant his outfit is; if Pitch's clothes make him look like a soldier about to face battle, Tarr's make him look like he is attending a party. The garish pin in the shape of a bird; the flash of gold studs on leather gloves and boots - they seem out of place. Oblivious to Jack's thoughts, Tarr beams at them.

"Looks like I beat you here, your highness."

"Indeed," Pitch says. "In record time, no doubt."

"I'm not sure if I'd go _that_ far," Tarr chuckles. "But perhaps."

A herald in a golden cloak comes toward them with a scroll in his hand. Bowing deeply to Pitch, he calls out:

"His Royal Majesty, Lord of Shadows, and Ruler of Fear: King Pitch, the first of his name!"

A wave of bows and curtsies breaks through the crowd, and the herald continues:

"Lord Tarr, Warden of the North and protector of the realm; and Lady Onyx of the North, the king's chief advisor."

He rolls up his scroll and steps aside. A man with nervous smile and a large golden chain resting on a round belly comes forward, bowing jerkily to Pitch.

"Your highness graces us with your presence. Dun Doras is always pleased-"

"Thank you, mayor. If you don't mind, we're in something of a hurry."

"Of- of course. Aleksis is waiting with the other mages in the journey hall. Please, follow me."

"My mages are ready for the journey, Pitch," Tarr says, hurrying to match his long strides. "And I'm ready to face the Fintish king with you – between the two of us, he won't put up much resistance."

"We shall see about that," Pitch says. "I don't think there'll be too much resistance but there'll be a lot of posturing."

"Well, I can posture with the best of them," Tarr says with a hearty laugh.

As they walk, Jack sees curious eyes in windows, or people pausing in the street to watch their procession. The town is much smaller than Iscadin, and they approach the grandest building in town, a large building made of dark stone that stands out starkly against the snow.

The mayor takes them up the stairs fenced by tall, narrow columns. Large, black doors open with a flourish of his hand and he leads them into an vestibule where servants step forward to collect capes and cloaks. They go into a large hall, with tall windows that let in the sunlight. Together with the heat of a roaring fire in the hearth, it lends the illusion of a summer's day.

Chatter fades away as they enter; everyone turns toward them curious expressions. Almost everyone is lowborn – Selenan, like the northerners – though their clothes are more like what Jack is used to seeing, black with clean lines and splashes of gold.

There is another wave of curtsies and bows, and a tall man too young for his white hair steps forward, looking intensely at Jack before bowing to Pitch.

"Welcome, your highness; your presence in Dun Dorus is always an honour."

"Thank you, Aleksis. I trust everything is ready for the journey?"

"Of course." The man named Aleksis studies Jack for another moment and then breaks into a warm smile. "And you must be Jack. I've been looking forward to meeting you. I'm the leader of our journey mages here in Dun Doras - and I believe we are slightly related."

"We are?" Jack blinks in surprise.

"King Jokul's cousin was ambassador to Iscadin during the war, and she is my ancestor."

"I would hardly call that related," Tarr huffs from Pitch's side, frowning deep wrinkles at Aleksis.

"We share only a little blood," Aleksis says, indicating a tiny space between his finger and thumb, "But it is there. And family is important to me. If anyone messes with you, you come to me - I'll take care of them."

Jack laughs. "If anyone messed with me, I'm pretty sure the king would make them regret it fairly quickly."

"You can rest assured that I would," Pitch says, putting a hand to the small of Jack's back. "Anyone who even considered it would regret it most deeply."

Tarr excuses himself and bustles off to talk to his mages, and Jack once more finds himself the focus of Aleksis's attention.

"Would you like to see the journey circle, Jack?" Aleksis gestures at a door at the end of the hall.

Jack nods eagerly and turns to Pitch. "Is it okay?"

"Of course," Pitch says, touching the back of Jack's neck lightly and nodding at Kal. "Go with him."

"Of course, your highness," Kal says with a bow.

As Pitch unfastens Jack's leash, Alden strides over with more papers in his hands; it looks like Jack has chosen a good time to escape.

Aleksis leads Jack through the doors into a large room. Light pouring through stained glass windows on three sides make the space an explosion of colour, like thrown confetti.

The circle takes up most of the room: two concentric circles with runes and sigils closely packed between them. Aleksis walks the edge of the circle, hands behind his back. Jack steals a look at him. He'd like to look like Aleksis when he's older, he thinks: strong and handsome, humour never far from his eyes, a smile always haunting his lips. And more than that, his aura of calm and control is something that Jack envies.

"The sigils are carved into the floor," Aleksis says, gesturing at them. "Each is filled with a substance to boost their power – metals, minerals, even herbs and spices. It helps us to focus – that is something that almost every Umbran mage needs, and even we of Selenan stock use such things for grand magic like journeying. And it comes together to create a thing of beauty, don't you think?"

"It's lovely," Jack agrees, crouching to look at it better. The sigils are all of the lunar language that has long been sacred to Selanans, and the runes are Umbran; he recognises them from his magic lessons with Jethryn. The circle is a true mix of Selenan and Umbran heritage.

A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts.

A young woman steps into the room. Her eyes light curiously on Jack, and that's nothing new; but when she looks at Kal, Jack could swear that a blush washes over her cheeks and she gives him a fluttering smile.

"Aleksis, the king has asked to speak to you," she says, tearing her attention away from Kal.

He nods. "I've been telling Jack about the circle - would you answer his questions?"

"Of course." As he leaves, she turns to them with a pretty smile. "I'm Rikka."

"You're a journey mage too?" Jack asks.

"Oh, no. I'm a farspeaker. I work with the journey mages - I help them communicate over long distances. I'm actually going to be coming back to the palace with another farspeaker - we'll be helping the king and Lady Onyx stay in touch. Normally I live here in Dun Doras, so it will be lovely to see the palace. Do you live there?" She's speaking to Kal, who blinks at her as though surprised to be addressed.

"I- I do. I've lived there most of my life."

"It must be beautiful, and so close to Iscadin! I've only visited the capital once or twice - I'd love to go again."

"I'm sure you'll be able to," Kal says, glancing at Jack who has to bite his lip against a chuckle. "So- about the circle. I travelled that way once or twice when I was the king's guard, but Jack would like to know more."

Not the most subtle of subject changes, but Rikka nods. "Yes! There are circles dotted across Umbra. Farspeakers are the ones who carry messages so that everything is organised - the team at the destination circle need to be ready to catch the travellers, so everything needs to be timed perfectly."

"Catch?"

"Yes. Like today: the mages at Dun Doras send the travellers to Langcott - that's about halfway across Umbra, any journey across the country must stop there, as that's the limit of the journey spells. When the mages here start the spell to send the travellers, the mages in Langcott will start the spell to catch them. Normally there is a stopover there - the journey mages need to rest before they can send them on. But with the northern journey mages with them, the king's party will be able to travel onwards straightaway. A little convoluted, but it works."

It seems so odd to Jack - none of the magical transport that he's used needed someone at the destination, whether it was Bunny's tunnels or the silver bridge itself.

"But come," Rikka says, opening the door. "The departure ceremony will begin shortly. Let's go watch."

As he steps out into the hall, Jack sees Pitch lean toward Aleksis and murmur something to him; when Aleksis smiles, their eyes meet, and Jack frowns. Pitch is more comfortable with Aleksis than Jack's seen him with almost anyone. There's an easy camaraderie - a chemistry that Jack isn't sure he likes. Little sparks of jealousy bloom inside him, and even when he's back at Pitch's side, leash reattached, they don't disappear entirely. He likes Aleksis well enough, he doesn't like anyone else getting that kind of attention from Pitch.

The departure ceremony is simple enough; a small speech from Pitch and a procession through the hall to the circle room where each journey mage throws a handful of petals into the circle.

"They'll be starting the spell that opens the circle soon," Pitch says once the ceremony is over. "Let me take you back to the palace."

Jack nods. "Can I just say goodbye to Amber?"

"Of course."

She's standing close by Onyx's side, and they're talking softly, sharing smiles.

"Ah- Pitch is going to take me back to the palace now," Jack says, feeling awkward at intruding on their moment. "So I wanted to say goodbye."

Amber of course turns to him with a wide smile and a tight embrace. "Oh, I'll miss you, Jack! Make sure you wear something pretty while I'm gone to remember me by."

He laughs. "You're not going to be gone that long. Will Onyx wear pretty things too?"

"I hope so; I don't want her to forget me."

Amber turns to kiss Onyx softly; she has to rise onto her tiptoes to do it. Jack isn't surprised that Amber doesn't care about their audience, but he is surprised that Onyx doesn't rebuke her. She glances around as if wondering if anyone is watching, but then she takes Amber's hand as though she's decided she doesn't care.

"I'll see you back at the palace," Onyx tells him. "When I return I'll come and see you."

Jack nods his agreement and turns to go back to Pitch. Before he reaches him, he is accosted by Lord Tarr, who greets him with a wily smile.

"Now, Jack, did you think you could get away without saying farewell?"

"Ah - Of course not. Thank you for hosting the feast the other day. I hope I make it to the north soon so that I can see what it's really like."

"So do I! But now - you're returning to the palace, yes?"

Jack nods. "Pitch is about to take me back."

"Good, good. Safe journey, Jack."

"You too." Tarr holds his gaze a little longer than is comfortable, and after giving him a flustered smile, Jack turns to Pitch.

"So is there a shadow room here?"

"No," Pitch says. "But we'll make do. Kal - take care of Onyx on the journey back to the palace."

"Y-yes, your highness." Kal's eyes widen slightly and skip over to Onyx, just for a moment before turning back to Jack with a smile. "I'll see you later."

Pitch leads Jack over to the other side of the hall. Darkness creeps up over most of the windows. It creates deep shadows on the opposite wall and without even breaking his step, Pitch walks through them.

The feeling is as odd as before, the world not so much spinning as bending, a great pressure that makes it hard to breathe.

It's a relief when they step out into the shadow room in the palace; he definitely preferred the sleigh.

"Would you like to go to my chambers, or your own?"

"Mine. I don't think I'd like to stay in your rooms without you."

When they arrive at Jack's rooms, it's time to say goodbye. Jack swallows a sigh and interlaces their fingers. "I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you. But it's only two weeks, and I'll do my very best to ensure that we're done more quickly. I can't guarantee anything; these Fintish do like to talk."

"I'm sure since you have such a strong incentive, you'll do your best."

"Of course."

"And besides, we can still talk, sort of. Rikka said she'd be staying in the palace so you can communicate with Onyx. So we can communicate too-"

"From such a distance, communications will take a great deal of energy. It will only be in an emergency. Besides, most of what I'd want to tell you would not be the kind of thing I would want anyone else to hear."

"Oh yeah? Like how much you want me?" Jack asks, grinning and sliding his hands around Pitch's waist.

"Yes; but also that I love you."

Jack blinks up at him, feeling off balance. That's only the second time that Pitch has said that without being prompted. It makes Jack's heart ache and not entirely in a good way. To hear the words is wonderful, but that Pitch doesn't want others to know… Is it just a matter of privacy? Or is there another reason? Could Pitch be embarrassed that he feels so strongly about a courtesan? Or does he just not love Jack enough to want other people to know?

Jack pushes the thoughts clumsily away, knowing that he's being dramatic, and leans in to rest his head against Pitch's chest.

"Thank you," he whispers, aching, missing him already. He looks up and pulls Pitch down for a kiss. It threatens to get breathless, but Pitch gently pushes him away.

"Kal and Onyx will return soon. Have fun while I'm away, but do try not to get into too much trouble."

"I'll try," Jack says, but his grin says that he won't be trying _too_ hard.

But after a last brief kiss Pitch leaves, and nothing in Jack wants to smile.

* * *

It's the fifth day without Pitch, and Jack still feels the aching emptiness of the bed.

After bathing he pulls on trews and a tunic, and misses Amber as he has every morning. If she was here she would tease him for being so sappy and heartsick, and she'd remind him that it will only be another week or so until Pitch will be home.

As it is he has only the nervous servant who brings him a breakfast of oatmeal and hot drinks, and he won't even look at Jack.

Still, it's nice to sit out on the balcony as he eats. Fresh snow fell yesterday and a new white blanket covers the grounds. In the distance he hears laughter and he stands, curious to see who it is.

Halfway towards the trees, a couple of children are playing in the snow. One of them ducks into a crouch and scoops up a handful of snow, pats it in his hands and throws it at his friend. The friend squawks and throws snow of their own. They run with breathless laughter, pelting snow at each other and Jack wants to run down to join their fun and ask how to make the snowballs.

A knock of the door pulls him back to reality.

Pushing up from the sofa, he goes into the room to see Onyx enter. Unlike Jack, Amber's absence hasn't changed the way she dresses: her usual tailored trousers with a fitted jacket, black-on-black.

"Good morning," she says. "You slept well?"

"Well enough," Jack says, playing with his dreamsand pendant. ""It's strange to see you without Pitch or Amber."

"It's strange to be without them. When I last left her alone for any length of time, the next time I saw her she was missing an eye," Onyx says, with a frown. "I know Pitch won't let anything happen to her, but I'm worried about him as well." She shakes her head, and pushes a lock of hair behind her ear.

"You don't think anything will happen, do you?"

"No. Umbra is Fintan's major trading partner; they couldn't afford to anger us. As for the border skirmishes - they could be dangerous but Pitch and Amber will be safe within the walls of the royal residence. Being near the border it has almost as many precautions as the palace does - high walls, magical barriers on the grounds and the building, and then there are the guards, not to mention Pitch himself - and Amber too. She still trains every day, and-" realising that she's been rambling, her mouth snaps shut. "They'll be fine."

"They will," Jack agrees, but somehow Onyx's listing the security of the residence only increases his worry. There must be reason it has such protection - the danger must be very real.

Onyx's gaze drops to the ground for a moment, and then she looks up with a smile that's only a little tight. "Our pretty blonde farspeaker asked to go into Iscadin with Kal. I'll accompany you anywhere you wish to go."

"I'd've liked to go into Iscadin."

"I'm sure you would; I'm also sure Pitch wouldn't approve."

"Oh, so you're continuing his over-protectiveness in his absence?"

"Yes," Onyx says with the driest of smiles. "But also, I rather think Kal would like a little privacy with Rikka."

Jack opens his mouth and then closes it again. "Huh," he manages, feeling a jolt of annoyance at being cast off in favour of a pretty face. Lacking anything else to say, he steps out onto the balcony to finish his breakfast. Onyx follows him, not giving any indication that she's cold, though she must be. When Jack invites her to take anything she wants, she pours herself a cup of berry tea and holds it tightly, warming her fingers.

"I'd like to go outside," he says. "Do you think the lake's frozen over?"

"Perhaps; it's more likely that the ponds near the festival square have. I'll take you, if you'd like to see. I have the morning free."

"Sure."

She makes him wear boots and a cloak, and Jack is fairly certain that she has orders from Pitch. Kal has, too, if his awkward insistence on layers and shoes over the past few days is anything to judge by.

Still, Jack doesn't mind so much, because he has a plan. So he goes along without too much grumbling, though the embroidered snowflakes on the cloak make him miss Amber suddenly and fiercely.

She'd approve of his plan, though; of that he's sure.

The instant they're outside, Jack itches to take off the boots and run barefoot through the snow.

The stairs have been cleared of snow, as has the path. He steps off the path and onto the snow, and smiles at Onyx.

She smiles back and follows him, sinking in halfway up her booted calf.

"You seem so happy to finally see snow," she says.

"Yeah," he says. "I am."

"Considering how happy you were to see rain; at least this time I'm not getting soaked while trying to avoid looking at the two of you."

He laughs and drops into a crouch, letting his fingers skim over the top of the snow. "Yeah - snow is _much_ better than rain."

"On that count we agree-" Onyx breaks off with a yelp as Jack's snowball hits her in the face. It crumbles and falls to her jacket, and she wipes the rest of it away with the back of her sleeve. At first Jack is afraid she's angry but then she drops quickly and responds with a snowball of her own, much better made than Jack's, and hits him squarely on the shoulder.

"Amber is the snowball champion of the palace, and I've learned much from her," Onyx says, shaping another handful of snow into a ball and giving a very Pitch-like smirk. "For one who has only seen snow a few times in his life, you're playing a dangerous game. One you're going to lose."

"I might be new at this but I'm a fast learner," Jack says, and laughs as Onyx's snowball hits him, not even trying to get out of the way. Copying Onyx's technique he makes another projectile and this time pushes to his feet and launches it mid-run.

Onyx is not to be outdone, and she _is_ good at this. This time she makes a snowball for each hand, chasing after Jack and pelting him with one, then the other.

Laughing, he drops to the ground to make more; this time he misses as Onyx dodges, graceful and quick.

Jack has a snowball in his hand when he hears footsteps, and pauses. He turns to see Kal approaching and grins.

"How about we team up," he suggests to Onyx, who grins.

"I like that idea," she says, and quickly works to make an armoury of snowballs, ready to be launched at poor, unsuspecting Kal.

Without speaking they both move in front of the snowballs as Kal gets closer.

He smiles at them but his greeting is shattered by a snowball. He splutters as he shakes his head to shift the snow, then looks over at Jack with an open mouth. Jack only grins and throws a snowball up in the air, catches it.

"That's not fair!" Kal says, then leaps off the path to get ammunition of his own. But Onyx tags him before he can shape the snow and he looks at her with mock-betrayal. "You too? I thought you had honour, Onyx."

"When it comes to this, there is no such thing as honour," she says, and launches another snowball at him. "Only victory!"

Partnerships are formed and broken, tactics put into practice and good form is abandoned in favour of pelting the others with as many snowballs as physically possible.

There's no clear winner, and the fight comes to an end when they're all laughing, pink-cheeked and breathing heavy white clouds.

"How about a truce," Kal suggests, rubbing his hands together. "And a hot drink."

Onyx leads the way to a reception room near the library, one with a roaring fire that she and Kal instantly crowd around. Jack strips off cloak and boots and settles himself into the most comfortable looking chair.

"So how was Iscadin?" Jack hopes he manages to keep any jealousy from his voice.

"Cold," Kal says as Onyx goes to get a servant to bring them warm drinks. "Rikka wanted to go and see her brother who works on one of the ships in port, and the wind off the river is icy."

"The docks are a wonderful place for a romantic walk," Onyx says as she returns, slipping off her soaking jacket and putting it near the fire to dry.

"I- I don't-" Kal's words are little more than squeaks, and he looks over at her with wide eyes. "I- I don't know what you mean."

"Was that not your intention?" Onyx taps her lips and Jack has to hide a smile. He had no idea that Onyx could be so teasing. "I was sure that I heard her call you handsome."

Kal's mouth works silently for a moment, as it often does when he is talking to Onyx, and settles on a lovesick smile. "Handsome, huh?"

"And I saw the way she looked at you up in Dun Doras," Jack adds. "And the way you looked at her, too."

"W-what- I-"

He's saved from too much embarrassment when the servant knocks at the door with a mug of hot sweet tea and a carrot cake for each of them.

"Anyway, handsome's a good thing, right? Definitely better than being called a god," Jack says, sipping his tea and deciding to give Kal a break.

"I don't know," Kal says, latching onto the new conversation gratefully. "Throwing lightning bolts beats _handsome_ any day."

"I don't know about lightning bolts; snowballs are about as far as I get."

"You're definitely good at that," Kal says with a laugh. "So, what? You're the god of snowballs?"

"Hey, don't limit me to just one season. I might be an ice mage but I'm fun all the time."

"A god of fun, then?" Onyx asks with a smile that's only slightly teasing.

"Yeah," Jack says. "Yeah. I like the sound of that."

* * *

The next day starts with thoughts of more snowball fights.

There's a knock at the door at breakfast time. Jack's expecting the usual silent servant and is surprised to see a stranger enter, a lowborn with blond hair and a bright smile.

"Good morning, Courtesan Jack."

"Good morning," he says, pleased by the change in demeanor from his usual servant.

"Gerd is visiting family today; I'm just filling in for him. You take your breakfast on the balcony, don't you?" Before waiting for an answer, he takes the tray out and puts in on the table. He gives Jack a conspiratorial smile. "Gerd told me that you like the fruit pastries, so I got you extra."

"I thought there looked like more than usual. Thank you."

The boy goes to the edge of the balcony and looks out, scanning the grounds. "Perfect morning to sit out in the fresh air, isn't it?"

"It is," Jack nods, popping a pastry into his mouth and sighing in pleasure at the taste.

The boy turns back to Jack. "Enjoy your breakfast, courtesan," he says, and with a bow, he leaves.

Jack takes his time with breakfast, swinging his legs up onto the sofa so that he can read his book - or try to.

He thought he'd finally found an interesting book about politics, but his hopes were quickly dashed. What started out as a promising tale of rebellion against the Sinaran empire and a lost heir to the throne quickly devolved into pages and pages of words like _legislation_ and _sumptuary laws_ and it's so dull that barely minutes in, Jack's mind rebels and refuses to read another word.

As least there's no romance. Jack's had his fill of that.

It's been a week, and Kal's been walking with Rikka every morning. These walks have grown longer every day, and that means he's getting ever later in coming to see Jack. He keeps catching himself talking of her, and moving on to other things; but his words tend to wander back to her. Kal seems genuinely delighted to find someone interested in him; after so long mooning over Onyx, with whom he never had a chance, it must be a nice change.

Jack tries not to be jealous. Kal deserves to be happy, and Rikka seems to be making him happy. But he's afraid that the more Kal sees of Rikka, the less time he'll have to spend time with Jack. The less he'll _want_ to spend time with Jack.

Uncomfortable with these thoughts, he tries to turn his attention back to the book, but the moment he does, he feels a familiar magic - it sets the back of his neck tingling, a silvery shiver. He hasn't felt magic like that in months - and it shouldn't be _here_.

The book falls from his fingers and he stands - it _can't_ be-

The floor lurches under his feet and he staggers back, hand reaching for something to steady him as a strange groaning fills the air- Another lurch and Jack grabs the back of the sofa- A deeper groaning and a series of cracks, getting louder as Jack's fear ratchets up-

_Move, get inside, now, now, now!_

And then the floor drops away.

There's less than a heartbeat of disbelief and then he's falling, his stomach cartwheeling. Noise, _huge_ noise, a blur of rocks and rubble and terror-

He grabs for his magic instinctively, desperately. He latches onto the wind, though he manages to hold onto it only long enough to arrest his fall. After a few feet he falls the rest of the way to the ground, crying out as he crashes on the rubble of his balcony. Pain tears through his right leg and he pulls it into his chest, gasping.

"You idiot! You were only supposed to hit the top of the balcony, we were told to bring him in alive-"

"And he is alive, so shut up."

Jack looks up-

And forgets how to breathe.

Six men in Lunanovan armour stand about twenty feet away, and the glowing circle of the silver bridge dances over the snow behind them.

_It can't be_.

Only when one of the soldiers approaches does _bring him in alive_ sink in and Jack tries to scramble to his feet. His legs don't want to hold him. He tries to reach his magic but his thoughts are tumbling and his heart is racing; he has nothing like the calm he needs to control it. Desperate, he grabs a fist-sized piece of rubble and throws it. It makes contact with the soldier's helmet, and the next one hits him squarely in the face. He spins backwards and crashes to the ground.

This time Jack manages to stand. He tries to run but each hobbling step is gasping agony and he's too slow, too slow.

Another of the soldiers appears in front of him, a dagger in his hand. Jack tries to jerk away but succeeds only in falling backwards. The soldier gives him an ugly smile and before Jack can react, the knife flashes down. There's an explosion of pain down the side of Jack's face. He cries out, both hands going to his face as though he can hold back the pain. Blood is already pouring down his cheek, his neck, thick and hot and wet.

The soldier grabs his arm, pulls him to his feet. In his panic Jack reaches desperately for his magic. There's a terrible pain in Jack's temples, and in an explosion of blue sparks the man is thrown away from him.

"No one said he could fucking well use magic," one of the soldiers says, and Jack starts to limp away, trying to ignore the fear, the pain, the fact that this is even happening-

There's a shattering of glass and Jack looks around wildly, heart hammering as he tries to spot this new threat.

But it's no threat.

It's Kal and one of Jack's guards; they jump from an upper storey window and are lowered to the ground on a cloud of shadow.

Kal is ex-military and the guard can obviously use shadow magic. Hope leaps in Jack's heart.

Everything will be okay now. Kal's here to help him.

Someone cries _Get him into the circle!_ and Jack turns to see a soldier running over to him and his fear leaps, but a wave of shadow slams into the soldier and he is thrown against the side of the palace.

Jack's guard lifts a hand and with a sweeping motion of his arm, a slam of shadow takes another soldier out.

Kal is by Jack's side, grabbing at his hand - _he's touching me_, Jack thinks stupidly - and pulling him away. "It's alright, Jack, you're going to be alright," he says, and Jack leans against Kal for support, limping as fast as he can. This can't be real, it can't be. His head spins and his face throbs, and it _can't be real_-

There's a spike of magic and there's a flash in Jack's peripheral vision; turning, he sees the guard on the floor, unmoving.

_This can't be real,_ Jack thinks again, hysteria leaking into his thoughts.

There are only two soldiers left, and one marches over, sword in hand.

"Sorry to break up the rescue mission," he says, but Kal moves between him and Jack, drawing his shortsword.

"You're not laying a hand on him."

"Oh, I'm terrified to be sure," the soldier drawls, and easily fends off Kal's thrusts. Kal is good but the soldier is better, and his longsword gives him better reach. It's obvious that Kal is badly disadvantaged. Jack needs to _help_. He has magic, he hit that other soldier with those ice sparks, he can hit this one, come on, come _on_-

It doesn't work.

_So go get help!_ Jack moves, taking deep ragged breaths as pain hammers at him with every step. He gets barely ten feet when his leg gives way again.

He falls, and looks over his shoulder to see a parry and then a thrust-

And Kal stops, mouth dropping open as his sword falls from his fingers.

No.

The soldier chuckles and steps back, pulling his sword away.

It's red. Slick.

_No!_

"Nice try," the soldier says, mockery dripping from his words as Kal falls first to his knees, and then topples to the ground.

"No!" A scream, torn from Jack's throat. Anger collides with Jack's fear and he rises to his feet, shaking and bloody.

The soldier looks at him with that mocking grin, but before he can speak Jack screams and lets the anger flow from him. It smashes through him, past his fear, past his confusion, past the barrier in his collar. Blue sparks race to the soldier and before he can even cry out they freeze into a hundred icy points and pierce him like a volley of arrows.

He falls, a mangled mess of blood and ice, and and then there is only the one soldier left.

Jack's anger rises again, consuming, white-hot, as icy particles spiral around him in a frozen whirlwind. It burns away control, thought; all Jack has is anger, building as the wind whips around him.

The soldier starts to conjure a pulsing ball of light like liquid silver in his hand, growing bigger and bigger. The other hand holds a sword and he runs toward Jack.

_Kal_, Jack thinks and his anger drowns him. His magic surges, and Jack feels the barrier in the collar stutter and fall.

Magic crackles in the air: a building swirl of blue sparks; brightening silver light. The soldier reaches Jack, his hand clamping painfully tight around Jack's arm, and Jack cries out, throwing everything he has at the him - just as the soldier launches his magic at Jack.

There's a flash so bright that it hurts-

And then darkness.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Extra thanks to those that take the time to leave favs and comments - you're what keeps me posting here :)


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